


An Arrangement of Thorns

by Kharessa Bloodrose (Kara_McKay)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Beating, Belts, Blindfolds, Bondage, Cock Rings, Coercion, Collars, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Flails, Gaslighting, Incest, Infidelity, M/M, Manipulation, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Riding Crops, Safeword Use, Safewords, Sexual Coercion, Sibling Incest, Spreader Bars, Threesome - M/M/M, Victim Blaming, abuse adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:29:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 81,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17552276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kara_McKay/pseuds/Kharessa%20Bloodrose
Summary: Elrohir learns that his twin brother, Elladan, is involved in an odd relationship with their former tutor, Erestor.  Relationships develop.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story was new in 2003, and I remember having a lot of fun with it, though I'm having to re-read it now to tag it correctly from one chapter to the next. It's a work based on the fanon of the time, and may not feel as if it fits with current LotR fanworks. It's also a BDSM story that does not try to be a sex manual. I actually remember writing about it in my LJ that part of the fun of writing BDSM with characters like elves is that SSC and RACK become a lot more adaptable than they are in reality. The main pairing is incestuous, and I make no great effort to remind readers that incest is a very bad thing in the real world. I see those three elements -- fanon based, a don't-try-this-at-home approach to BDSM, and incest -- as the three big issues that you should know about this story going into it so you can decide whether you really want to start reading. Oh, and first chapter ear sexuality. In my defense, it was a thing back then. Also, I was young and didn't know any better. 
> 
> **BE AWARE: THIS STORY INCLUDES MANY INTERACTIONS AND REFLECTIONS THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING IF YOU HAVE SUFFERED MENTAL, EMOTIONAL, OR SEXUAL ABUSE. I am not kidding. Not even a little bit.**

From a distance, and to the casual observer, nothing would have seemed amiss. Erestor was seated on a low stone bench, back to a latticed arch riotously covered in red climbing roses. Elladan sat or knelt on the ground beside him. Elrohir was no longer watching them from a distance, however, and he was not a casual observer. Standing half concealed by a marble garden nymph, he considered the scene being played out before him with a furrowed brow. He was unaware that his breathing had become shallow, his posture that of a hunter lying in wait for his prey. Elrohir hovered, poised, watching and waiting, consternation deepening.

Yes, Elladan was kneeling, and though Elrohir could not see clearly through the tangle of roses, it seemed that his hands were clasped behind his back. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were fixed upon those of their tutor's far more intensely than they ever had in the classroom. It seemed that nothing existed in this distant corner of the garden save for Erestor; the young elf had no eyes for flowers and fountains, fruit laden trees and verdant greenery. It was this expression of fascination that intrigued Elrohir -- that and the blush that nearly matched the flood of roses.

He caught his breath a moment later when Erestor ran his fingers lightly under Elladan's chin and tilted his head upwards to expose the smooth column of white throat. The counselor's hands were encased in black leather -- tight black leather that fit like skin. From where Elrohir stood the gloves looked perfectly smooth, stretched taut over the flesh beneath them. There was something vaguely menacing about the way those gloves looked on Erestor's hands -- the way he traced that gloved hand along the line of Elladan's jaw and under his chin, and the way he drew his thumb lightly over Elladan's lower lip.

Elladan remained perfectly still save for a parting of lips, a flicker of pink tongue. Elrohir felt a strange, insidious heat coiling low in his belly as he watched his brother delicately taste the smooth leather, as he imagined the warmth of it, the texture, the faint tang of salt. His heart hammered in his chest as he stared, willing them to move, willing this scene to make sense. They did not move, however. The two elves might have been statues themselves: motionless, connected only by a few centimeters of flesh separated by leather. 

Elrohir could not see Erestor's face, could not tell if the older elf wore the same expression of flushed fascination. Erestor's profile was obscured by a fall of raven hair, unbraided, and that was something else that was unusual, though Elrohir had not immediately noticed that amidst all else here that was unusual. He suddenly wanted to change his position so that he could see what emotions might be playing across the chief counselor's face, but now he was as moveless as they were, trapped under the too hot sun next to the marble nymph.

The other hand came into view and the thumb was retracted. Elrohir held his breath. Heels of palms met under Elladan's chin; finger tips danced lightly against ear lobes. For the briefest of moments Elladan's dark eyes closed. Erestor said something sharply, something that Elrohir could not quite hear, and eyes fluttered opened once again, dilated.

Erestor's fingers moved along the curve of Elladan's ears, slid upwards, stroked the tips in a gentle yet merciless rhythm. Elrohir could see the increasing tension in his brother's posture even through the concealing veil of roses and flowering bushes, could see the tightness in the line of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes. His hair had been pushed back to reveal his ears completely, and though Elrohir knew that the delicate points were sensitive, he had never thought the sight of exposed ears could be so stimulating, so erotic. His brother's lips opened soundlessly, and Elrohir bit his own lip as he continued to watch.

Again Erestor spoke, so softly that it could be heard only as a soft murmuring. Elladan's hands emerged from behind his back, his movements stiff from the awkwardness of his position and stillness too long maintained. Elrohir could not see what he was doing, but he did not need to. The angle of his shoulders and elbows told all. Elrohir expected that once he had undone the laces of his breeches that Erestor would touch him, or that he would touch himself. Instead, he once more folded his hands behind his back. Erestor continued his ministrations, thumbs working across ear tips while his fingers skated along the curve and rounded lobe.

Elrohir had no idea of how long he stood there, how long he watched the strange tableau by the roses and fountain before Elladan finally reached his climax. In spite of the distance between them he could hear the raggedness of his brother's breathing, the uncontrollable whimper that passed his lips with each exhalation. He could see the trembling in a frame no longer able to maintain perfect stillness, a slow shattering of perfection into something more heated, more sensual, more desirable. When it was finished Elladan swayed on his knees, hands still caught up at the small of his back, and Elrohir forgot to breathe as he waited to see if his brother would fall.

He did not fall, however, and at another murmur from Erestor he sank back on his heels. Only the top of his head was now visible over the screening barrier of rhododendrons, dark brown silk gilded by bright sunlight, bowed. Erestor handed him something, and once more there was movement that Elrohir could guess at but not see. When he was finished, Elladan shakily knelt up once more. Erestor's lips met his in a searing kiss, a black gloved hand clenched on his trembling shoulder. A moment later the two rose, and Elrohir silently backed away, disappeared into the controlled tangle of shrubbery and flowers.

*****

Elrohir was the younger of the two, if only by a matter of minutes; he was the more bookish twin, quiet and introspective. His thoughts turned inward, often on their own track separate from the world around him, while Elladan was the more outgoing, vibrant, vivacious and active twin. There was little that Elladan missed, whereas Elrohir was often so tightly focused upon his interests that all else could go up in flames around him without his notice. Once his attention had been caught, however, Elrohir was not one to be diverted.

They had shared a single room until they had reached their majority, and it had been Elladan's idea to separate. Elrohir considered that as he laid back on his bed, restlessly teasing at the backwards trail of his memories. They were still considered elflings by most of their elders. A year had passed since the celebration of their coming of age, but Elrohir knew they were woefully young compared to the other elves in their father's house. Apparently one of those other elves did not think them too young, though. He was not quite sure in what manner Erestor had been treating Elladan, but of a surety he was not treating him like an elfling. Had this begun soon after their coming of age? Was that why Elladan had wanted his own room?

He began to stroke himself through his breeches as he considered the scene in the garden. Remembered heat blended with renewed heat as he rubbed the heel of his palm over hardening flesh, his thoughts whirling as he lazily tantalized himself. Strange that had been, the only contact between the two being that of gloved hands to lips and ears, lips to lips, hand to shoulder. They had not embraced. Cold logic and excitement mingled as he thought of this, thought of the abrupt stiffening he had felt in that same place that he now stroked when he had watched Erestor touching his brother so shamelessly, so expertly, so surely.

Elladan and Erestor had never been close as far as Elrohir knew. His brother had not been particularly interested in his lessons, and had been little more than a passable student. If he had not been born into a house that placed great value on learning he probably would not have bothered to learn more than the basics of language and history that all elves were expected to know. Elrohir had been the good student, the one who listened and learned, the one who studied because he felt motivated to learn more, to know more. He had been the one to ask endless questions, to seek their teacher out for more, more, more. He had been Erestor's pet as Elladan had been Glorfindel's. At least, that's what Elrohir had always thought.

But Elladan was the one who saw and heard, who missed nothing that happened around him. Elrohir frowned over this as he unlaced his breeches, took his length in hand, thought of his brother's face transfigured in ecstasy. Elladan would have known if it had been him with Erestor; it would not have taken a year and a chance encounter to bring such a thing to his attention. Was that all the reason there was for Elladan's presence at Erestor's feet?

He saw leather gloved thumbs on ear tips, saw sweat forming on Elladan's brow in pure beads. Muscles flexed hard in thighs and stomach as his hips jutted upward, as his member convulsed in his grip. Elrohir settled back with a soft sigh, sleepiness mixing oddly with curious, frightened excitement.

*****

"Do you remember how we used to sneak out to the river at night? Go fishing or swimming? Or back to the caves?"

"Mmmhmm." Elladan replied. They had finished their supper an hour ago. Elladan had gone to the stables to check on one of the pregnant mares, and Elrohir had gone along with him. Now they stood by the stall door watching the horse contentedly eating the apples they had brought her.

"What say we go tonight? We won't have to sneak out now." He grinned broadly, and Elladan smiled in return.

"I do miss that. Tonight's no good, though; I have to get up early tomorrow to patrol with Glorfindel. Once my training's done, he and I are going to be switching off on mornings."

"Mmm." Elrohir nodded. He knew Elladan did not begin morning patrol with Glorfindel until the following week because he'd asked the seneschal before speaking with his brother.

"Maybe some other night?"

"Tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow night's good for me. See you an hour after bedtime, just like the old days?"

Elladan laughed. "Sure, though I'd prefer to leave by the door instead of by the trellis under the balcony! Remember the time you dropped the fishing poles and they landed on the patio?"

"Don't remind me. I thought my heart was going to stop when father ran in to see if we were alright. How much of that stuff do you really think he didn't know about?" Elrohir asked, and Elladan shrugged.

"I don't know, and I daresay we're still too young to ask. Let it mellow for a century or two."

Elrohir snickered. "Aye, I'm not eager to bring our... indiscretions to his attention yet, either." He cast his brother a sidewise glance. "Especially your later ones."

"You must admit she's a pretty lass." Elladan smirked, and Elrohir raised an eyebrow.

"She? I would think 'they' would be more like it."

"So I had a little bit of trouble differentiating between love and infatuation."

"And since then? I always suspected you wanted your own room so you wouldn't have to listen to me teasing you about your girlfriends."

"I think I might have learned the difference." Elladan looked away, but not before Elrohir saw color rise in his cheeks and a shadow cross his dark eyes.

"Well, we had best be getting back to the house since you need your rest."

"Aye." Elladan's voice tone was slightly strangled, and Elrohir barely managed to hide his grin.

"Tomorrow night, then, if you can manage to avoid Glorfindel. Or any other entanglements."

Elladan said nothing, and the two left the stables in oddly weighted silence. 

*****


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan and Erestor talk about the possibility that Elrohir has discovered their relationship.

Part Two

He knelt in his own personal darkness, felt the warm, velvet softness of the blindfold as a tactile form of night. Deprived of   
his vision, it seemed to him that his other senses came to the fore. He could hear the song of the night birds with perfect clarity, the wind rustling tree branches, the distant sound of a gurgling fountain. The scent of night surrounded him, the cool air's touch caressed his bare body, the floor boards felt smooth and solid under his knees.

He strained to hear more, to feel more, but there was nothing. No sense of Erestor in the room with him, though he knew the other elf was there. Thought he was there. He could not have been kneeling in darkness for that long, no great length of time could have passed since he'd felt Erestor's hands tying the blindfold at the back of his head, on his shoulders pushing him to his knees. He knew Erestor was there, but he could have left, couldn't he? Erestor could move quickly and silently when he wished to; it was not beyond belief that he could have slipped out so stealthily that Elladan might not have heard even the smallest click of the door opening and closing.

Was the door closed? Elladan realized with rising alarm that he did not know. In this chamber everything became skewed, his   
normal reactions of observation and quick witted verbal defense fell to pieces. He did not think Erestor would have done this to him with the door open. No, he was sure of it. Still, if the door had never been shut behind him he would not have heard any click of opening and closing. Surely he would not have missed that, not when he could hear every cricket in the garden, could almost believe that he could hear the sound of dust settling slyly on shelves, tables, and casements.

Erestor had left him, blindfolded, nude, kneeling in the middle of the floor with the chamber door standing open. His heart thundered in his chest as alarm began to escalate into panic. He had to move, had to take off the blindfold and shut the door, or better yet, put his clothes back on and get out.

But if Erestor was still there... The thought trailed off into confusion. The last time he had heard the click of the door and had bolted, but Erestor had been there. He could still feel the memory of the flail's touch burning against the skin of his inner thighs, could feel the heat that had come later, that he had been left with until earlier this afternoon in the garden. He remembered the lash, but more importantly he remembered the heat, heat of lust and heat of sun, dampness of black earth under his knees, indirect contact spiraling him toward excruciating ecstasy until he felt himself at the brink of madness beneath both Erestor's unblinking eyes, and the sun's unblinking eye.

Elladan trembled, schooled himself to stillness, to straightness. -It doesn't matter if he's there or not.- He thought desperately. A bead of sweat slipped down his spine in a shocking trail of cold, and his nipples hardened, tightened even as he clenched his eyes shut behind the velvet band. Confused tears threatened, and he willed them not to fall. Contradictorily his cock was hard as rock, as steel, as mithril, maintaining straightness if not perfect stillness and weeping unashamedly in a way that Elladan   
could only envy.

His hair was lifted; fingertips brushed the nape of his neck. Elladan could not suppress a hiss of surprise, and a startled flinch.

"Very good, Elladan," said the soft voice behind him, a voice that was never raised no matter the circumstances or provocation. It was gentle and soothing, and paradoxically, Elladan’s tears began to fall.

*****

Afterwards they lay together in the incongruously wide bed that dominated the otherwise austerely appointed chamber. Elladan had not wondered why Erestor would have chosen such a large and heavy piece of furniture past his first night spend in Erestor’s room. He knew now that the posts were hollow, that bars of mithril lay concealed within them, and that the frame was likewise made of mithril rather than mahogany. He knew those things just as he knew that within the bottom drawer of the bedside table lay a silk lined box, and that upon the silk a set of jeweled manacles gleamed silent menace. His knowledge of both left him feeling light headed, fluttery, desirous.

He settled back, head cushioned in the hollow of Erestor's shoulder, idly toying with a strand of raven hair. This was the gray area, the softness of linen sheets and simply embroidered counterpane, comfort of pillows and downy mattress. Their outward life lay within the blacks and whites of stark concealment; their secret life followed its own set of unspoken and often uncertain rules. Here though, he could touch and speak, ask, be someone whom no one else knew.

"Earlier, in the garden." He said lazily, nuzzling against Erestor's throat. "Someone might have seen."

"Someone did see, lirimaer."

Elladan froze, the pleasant exhaustion of satisfaction abruptly vanished, replaced by various aches and strains. He twisted to look into Erestor's face. Erestor met his gaze with equanimity, a faint smile curving his lips. _Will you voice an objection?_ That look asked, and Elladan looked away. Perhaps the after-love refuge of the bed was not a gray area; he bit his lip.

"Who?"

"Your brother."

"Elrohir." Elladan said redundantly. His mind was blank, his flesh cold. Erestor pulled him closer, kissed the corner of his mouth.

"He won't say anything, pen neth. I think we made him curious."

"After supper he asked me..." His words trailed off. It was not unusual for his thoughts to come slowly or in elliptical phrases here, and Erestor waited patiently. "Tomorrow night we're supposed to go to the river. Fishing maybe."

"You think he has questions?" Erestor asked.

"Aye. I think maybe he's already begun asking them." He glanced up at Erestor again. His fair brow was furrowed, and an expression of gnawing doubt darkened his eyes. "Did you mean for him to see?"

"No, Elladan. At that hour he should have been with your father. Afternoon in midsummer is not a popular time for strolling in the garden."

"Mmmm." He tightened his grip on his lover, clinging to him. "I wonder if it's worth the effort of dancing around the question tomorrow."

"Probably not. Elrohir is neither stupid nor easily diverted. And who knows, perhaps it's not such a bad thing."

"How so?"

"You are both quite beautiful, pen neth."

Elladan felt a tightening in his groin, a renewal of hardness combined with a fluttering feeling in his stomach. The two sensations twined sinuously together in a queasily sensual dance that was deliciously, frighteningly familiar to the young elf -- so familiar that his body automatically associated one with the other, and could no longer remember what it felt like to experience them separately.

"You love me?"

"Always, lirimaer."

"Because of what I let you do?"

"No."

"Then why?" He closed his eyes, strained to hear the answer as if he were once again blindfolded and bound as well.

"Just because I do." 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how much a person's perception of behavior changes over the years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan attempts an uncomfortable seduction; no one's motives are clear.

Part Three

By Ithil's light all had taken on hues of blue and silver from the water to the bedrock shore, to the still trees further up the embankment, to Elrohir's profile as he bent his head over the tangled fishing line. Silver fingers worked the snarled line adroitly, and Elladan found himself watching those fingers with more interest than he could readily explain, or perhaps with more interest than he cared to explain.

Elrohir had asked him nothing. He had never kept anything from his brother before, and he felt obscurely guilty as he flicked quick glances at him while watching his own line. He actually used his own fairly regularly, and it had been neatly wound and ready for use. The hand holding the slender rod was not still, however, and he did not expect this fishing trip to be particularly fruitful. He was wound as tightly as his line had been, quivering in guilty anticipation that communicated itself through rod and line to whatever creatures might be considering his bait. The thought made him uneasy.

"Elrohir." He broke the tense silence, took his courage in both hands. "I know what you want to know about."

"Mmm?" Elrohir asked. His hands grew still as he turned his head to face his brother. Ithil shown behind and above him, turning him into a black silhouette. Elladan licked his lips.

"About Erestor?"

"I have to admit that I'm curious." A brief pause. "You knew I was there."

"No, Erestor did. He told me later."

"You and he are… lovers?" Elrohir seemed uncertain in his choice of wording, and Elladan found himself equally uncertain as to how to answer. Finally he chose the easiest, least complicated path.

"Aye."

"And this is why you wanted your own room." He spoke musingly. "Why didn't you tell me, Elladan?"

Elladan winced at the faint tone of reproachful hurt in his brother's voice. "I did not know if you would understand. It is not a… typical relationship."

"I gathered that." His gaze cut to the river. "What is it like?"

Elladan's mouth felt dry, tasted like wool. He could not describe what he had with Erestor to himself let alone to his brother.

"He could show you." The words fell from his lips in awkward chunks. "He says you are beautiful."

Elrohir looked back at him, and Elladan could imagine his twin raising an eyebrow in sardonic amusement. "I should think so, considering."

"We are not the same person, Elrohir." The words came out more vehemently than Elladan had intended, and for a moment silence hung between them.

"I'm sorry, brother." Elladan whispered. Elrohir set aside the fishing line and scooted closer to him, settled a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"I understand what you mean. But I'm not sure what you're asking of me."

Elladan sighed, bowed his head. It was what Erestor was asking, not he, and though he had experience in seduction he had never thought to attempt it on his brother. Words failed as he leaned into Elrohir's warmth. When at last he spoke, the words that came forth were not the ones he had thought of earlier, had practiced until he was certain they would slide off his tongue as smoothly as melted butter.

"Elrohir, it's only me he's looking at when I'm with him. Only me. Not Elladan-and-Elrohir. Everything else vanishes. It's like," he struggled to express himself, "it's like being the only thing of importance. All of his attention is – on – me."

He sat upright, ran a distracted hand through his hair making a mess of his braids. "It's not that I feel ignored or neglected, or anything like that. But I love it when he looks at me that way, not even my other lovers ever looked at me like that. Like he wants to keep me forever."

"But he thinks I'm beautiful." Elrohir said softly, and Elladan nodded, eyes skipping away from Elrohir's face.

"I like the idea and I don't."

"Mmm." His brother murmured noncommittally. Elladan continued as if his brother had said nothing.

"I love being the only one, but sometimes it's frightening, too. And I wish I had you to cling to. I wish I'd told you from the beginning."

"I wish you had, too." Elrohir stroked Elladan's shoulder. "Does he love you? Truly?"

"Aye." Elladan said. His eyes did not meet Elrohir's as he spoke.

"I see." He bowed his head, considering. "What do you want?"

Elladan said nothing, and Elrohir could easily read the confusion of emotions in his brother's face. Sighing, Elrohir tried again. "What does this entail?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Just that it's never anything you don't want, never more than you can handle."

"Alright. Think about this, and if it's what you want…"

Elladan cut him off. "I do."

"Alright."

"Tomorrow night." He strove to inflect his voice with sureness, firmness and almost succeeded. Elrohir considered him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before answering.

"Tomorrow night."

*****

He lay beside Erestor, felt the anchoring weight of the elder elf's arm wrapped protectively about his waist. He had been surprised that Erestor had waited for him, but had been glad of it nonetheless. It was rare for him to come to Elladan's rooms, and it was the first time that he'd made love to him in Elladan's bed.

He had not asked for the details of his outing with Elrohir. When he had tried to talk about it, Erestor had hushed him with soft words and gentle touches, told him that there would be time for that on the morrow. He made love to him slowly and sensually, almost as he had on the night he had taken Elladan for the first time.

There were no mithril bars hidden away in the posts of Elladan's bed, and Erestor had lightly brushed away his offer of the scarves that lay in his own bottom drawer. They had joined together without benefit of bonds or blindfolds, moved against each other in slow, surging waves, surface current, undertow and drowning swimmer all in one. Elladan had reached his climax in silently screaming ecstasy, teeth drawing blood from his lover's shoulder, and as always he'd felt a sense of delirious freedom that nearly rose above the glory of completion. Beneath Erestor's weight it did not matter that he was the eldest son of Elrond Peredhil, did not matter that he was joint heir to Imladris, did not matter that soon enough he would be taking his place as a leader of elves. With Erestor he was no different from any other; it was not in what he was given that he gloried, but in what was taken away.

Even afterwards Erestor had not wanted to talk about his discussion with Elrohir, and Elladan smiled sleepily into the darkness as he thought of that. It didn't matter how matters had gone with Elrohir. That was what Erestor had silently told him, that it did not matter, that it was not important to them.

*****


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir is protective; sex happens. Angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first skeevy sex chapter. It's at this point that I'd like to remind you that this work could absolutely be triggering for anyone who's experienced mental, emotional, or sexual abuse.

Part Four

He was not as outgoing as his brother, not as swift to step forward, to speak out, to stand apart. Elrohir was no coward, however; the reasons for his reticence lay in the desire to consider his circumstances and think through his options rather than in fearfulness. He had had plenty of time to think after he and his brother had returned to the house on the previous night, and he did not hesitate in going to Erestor's office after the noon meal to speak to his father's advisor privately.

Elrohir was not surprised that Erestor seemed to have been expecting him. The dark haired elf viewed him with equanimity from behind his desk, slender eyebrows slightly raised in expectation.

"Good afternoon, Elrohir. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the straight backed wooden chair across from him. Elrohir's gaze flickered briefly over the offered chair as he strode to stand before the desk.

"This is about the conversation you had with your brother last night, I assume." Erestor said evenly, and Elrohir returned his bland expression, conversational tone.

"He would have told you what was said."

"Actually, no. We didn't discuss it."

The two stared at each other over the expanse of rose wood. Erestor's eyes were hooded, his lips curved in a small smile that could be interpreted as either mocking or amused. Elrohir did not rise to the bait. He had spent enough time as the advisor's student to know the game, if not the stakes.

"Elladan was not himself."

"No?" Erestor questioned, and now Elrohir was certain that it was mockery he saw in the lovely dark eyes.

"I am not certain I care for the effect you seem to have on him. You should have a care, my lord chief counselor."

Even to his own ears the words sounded impossibly pompous. Erestor's expression did not change, but something sparked in the depths of his eyes.

"Sit down, Elrohir." An order this time, not a request, and Elrohir found himself sitting out of force of habit, the long conditioning of classroom commands couched in polite phrases.

"I admire your instinct to protect your brother. Everyone thinks highly of your intellect, but they think you passive, do they not?" He nodded, not waiting for Elrohir to reply. "We know better, you and I. I know you would defend your brother to the death if need came to pass, but I assure you there is no need."

"He wept." Elrohir said, and his voice was stone.

"He is free to make his choices. As are you." Erestor paused, studied his former student's face. "Will I be seeing you later in the evening?"

Elrohir froze. It had been easy to tell Elladan that he would join them, easy to give his brother what he seemed to want and need. It was not so easy to give to Erestor. At last he nodded.

"Good. The second hour after the evening meal, then." He smiled, and for the first time since Elrohir had entered the room, the expression seemed genuine. "I am very demanding, Elrohir, as you may remember. Very demanding."

"I've gathered that." He said dryly, and Erestor laughed.

"No, pen-rhoven, you only think you have. I will see you tonight."

*****

"You're over dressed," was the first thing that Elladan said to him after stepping aside so that he could enter Erestor's bed chamber. The words were not spoken seductively, but worriedly, his nervous gaze flickering from Elrohir's silk shirt, doublet, breeches and high boots to the figure seated by the window. Elrohir glanced at the elder elf silhouetted by Ithil's silver rays, and shivered. Elladan wore a long white silk night shirt. Cream ruffles swallowed his hands and frothed at his throat. A simple white ribbon held his hair.

"Elrohir was given no instruction concerning this." Erestor said mildly. "Why don't you make him more comfortable, Elladan?"

"Yes, sir."

Elladan guided him to a richly upholstered wingback chair, pushed him gently but firmly down into it. Elrohir's jaw tightened as his brother knelt at his feet. He could not even begin to number the times that Elladan had helped him with his boots, but none of those times had been like this. Elladan's hands had never shook when he untied the laces, his hands had never felt so hot even through the thickness of protective leather. He had never performed this task as if it were a strange, abbreviated dance performed for a single, silently avid spectator. Elrohir started to speak, but Elladan shook his head ever so slightly, reached forward to press an index finger against his lips.

He would have drawn away at the touch of hands on his chest, moving over the buttons of his doublet and then beneath it to the laces of his shirt. Elladan brushed his hands away, however, offered him an unreadable, skittering glance that went oddly with the dull red blush that had risen in his cheeks. It occurred to Elrohir that he had never seen Elladan's hair this way, pulled back so tightly from his face. He'd seen it loose and flowing, and he'd seen it braided, had helped comb it and plait it on mornings and evenings beyond counting, but he'd never seen him like this. It also occurred to him that hair was something that one could hide behind; to his view Elladan was left more exposed by this style than by the night shirt that only covered him to mid thigh.

Then he was being pulled to his feet. The doublet fell back from his shoulders; the shirt was pulled over his head. Elladan knelt before him once more, and this time he did not look up to his brother's face as he began working the intricacies of belt and buttons, as he began to slide the fabric down over his brother's hips. This time Elrohir did step away, stood uncertainly for a moment before completing the task that Elladan had begun. His brother sank back on his heels, head bowed, and for a moment Elrohir felt a sense of dislocation. This pose was not so different from the one he had seen him in when he had knelt beside Erestor in the garden. It was strange, discomfiting, sickly arousing.

He met Erestor's eyes squarely when the counselor rose from his seat and crossed to stand before him, the hem of his dark robes lightly brushing the whiteness of Elladan's night shirt.

"This is how I want you when you are here, Elrohir. If you choose to return." He ran his knuckles gently against the younger elf's cheek, began unbraiding his hair without breaking their gaze. "Do you understand?"

Elrohir nodded. A hand clasped his ankle, tightened, and it took all of his effort of will not to look down. Erestor stepped closer and the clasp vanished; silk brushed against his bare skin. He felt his own face heating as his arousal slipped against the soft folds.

"Speak when you are spoken to, lirimaer."

He licked his lips. "Yes, I understand."

"Sir." Elladan murmured from somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. This time Elrohir did look down. His brother still knelt back, eyes fixed to the floor. His dark hair gleamed with red high lights in the glow of candles and lamps; his face was turned downward, half hidden in dark silk. "Yes, I understand, sir."

Erestor pressed two fingers beneath Elrohir's chin, raised his head so their eyes met once more. "Your brother is trying to help you. Will you waste his efforts?"

"No, sir." He breathed. Felt dizzy. Nothing to steady himself upon.

"Good." He smiled, pleased, and Elrohir was reminded incongruously of the classroom. "Rise, Elladan. There is something your brother needs to see."

He should not have been astonished by his brother's gracefulness, but he was, nevertheless. He had seen Elladan dance, and he had seen Elladan fight with both blade and bow. Elrohir knew he possessed the full measure of elvish dexterity and agility, but there was something in this delicate unfolding of self from floor to feet that caught his breath. He watched ambivalently, painfully aware of the coiling heat within him, the evidence of his desire stiff and unyielding between his legs.

Erestor stepped aside, and Elrohir nearly gasped at the sudden absence of cool cloth against his fevered skin. The advisor was not looking at him, however, but at Elladan who stood facing Elrohir, eyes fixed somewhere over his left shoulder. Neither he nor Erestor seemed to even be aware that he was standing there naked and aroused. It was disconcerting, even more so than if they had been blatantly staring, and Elrohir struggled with the urge to cover himself.

Erestor gestured and Elladan turned, again gracefully, slowly, swan-like within the thin layer of white silk and cream lace. Now Erestor turned his attention to Elrohir, and his expression was smooth, the tone of his voice didactic.

"Look, Elrohir."

Elladan raised his arms over his head, and Erestor grasped the slippery fabric, lifted it over his hips, past his waist, over his head. Elrohir sucked in a harsh breath, shock temporarily turning his thoughts into a blur of white light.

Welts crossed Elladan's buttocks and thighs in an obviously intentional pattern, lay at each side of his spine in a herring bone design. They looked to be a couple of days old, red fading to pink at the edges, partially healed. Elrohir swallowed hard. He had noticed no sign of physical discomfort when Elladan had sat with him on the bedrock river shore, but the welts had to still be painful. He reached forward, arm moving seemingly of its own accord, fingers trembling in fascinated curiosity and dread. He snatched his hand back at the last moment, held it clenched at his side. Erestor chuckled.

"You may touch, Elrohir."

He did not touch. He cast Erestor a look that was meant to be empowered with anger and disgust. Only mute confusion was readable among the emotions milling behind his dark eyes though, and when Erestor crooked a finger at him, silently asked him to circle Elladan, he obeyed.

Elladan's face was impassive save for the tightness of his jaw, the too wide eyes fixed on Erestor. Elrohir stared. And stared. It seemed alright to stare at Elladan this way, as if this pose and the improbable marks on his body had made a statue of him, a morbid objet d'art rather than a person. Elrohir stared, and he did not object when Erestor wrapped an arm around his waist from behind, pulled him up against his body so that he stood pressed against him, nearly cheek to cheek. He gasped when Erestor's hand circled his cock.

"I am very demanding. Do you understand now?" Erestor spoke into his ear, and Elrohir nodded, replied in a voice that sounded faint and alien.

"Yes, sir."

There were different marks across Elladan's abdomen, fewer than on his back and older, but also clearly applied with an eye for artful effect. Not lash marks; Elrohir leaned back in Erestor's embrace, knees nearly buckling under the advisor's slow, sensual touch. A riding crop, perhaps, he thought distantly as Erestor's hand moved up and down, squeezed, stroked.

Between Elladan's thighs he could see angry red lines, carefully placed on the delicate white skin. Elrohir could easily imagine how that might have been done, wondered if Erestor had bound his brother with legs wide spread to apply the lash to his inner thighs or if Elladan had somehow, impossibly held still for it. He moaned at the thought, shuddered in Erestor's grip, allowed his gaze to move slightly higher to Elladan's heavy, engorged member, then higher still to Elladan's face.

Now his brother was not intent upon Erestor's face. The expression of completely focused fascination that Elrohir had seen in the garden was not gone, but the advisor's dark eyes were no longer the anchor holding his gaze. Instead he stared enrapt at Erestor's hand, at it's movement around Elrohir's cock, at Elrohir's cock within it's expert circle, and Elrohir shattered in an orgasmic rush that was two parts purest ecstasy to one part dismay. 

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be supported by Erestor. Felt warm slickness across his skin as Erestor's hand skated upward over his belly, chest, throat, and chin. Knew what the advisor wanted when he felt wet fingers pressed to his lips, flicked his tongue over them at the thought of red welts crossing his brother's back. Tasted salty viscousness.

"Very good, Elrohir." Erestor whispered against his hair, and Elrohir clenched his eyes shut tighter, clenched his fists at his sides tighter, sucked the offered fingers into his mouth. He could hear Elladan's harsh breathing, and knew that he was watching this just as he had watched while Erestor was touching him.

He was guided back to the chair, allowed to sit. Erestor batted his hand aside lightly, warningly, when he reached to wipe sticky wetness from his lips. Again his chin was lifted, his face turned toward Elladan.

"Watch. Do not touch."

"Yes, sir." He whispered, wondering dazedly how he could touch from this distance. Then it dawned on him; Erestor was telling him not to touch himself. He blushed in a combination of embarrassment and disappointment.

He had been afraid that he would have to remain still while Erestor hurt his brother, but that was not the case. The strong hands that guided Elladan's arms back to his sides were gentle, the caresses that he lavished on the younger elf's flanks and thighs were soft and loving if distant, removed. Elrohir watched, lips parted, as Erestor's hands glided over shoulders and collar bones, circled nipples, slid over the expanse of chest and abdomen only to slide back to hips and then to thighs. Elladan moaned, and was quietly hushed.

Erestor did not face Elladan when he finally removed his robe, but remained behind him. The soft sound of silk falling to the floor was the only indication given to the older twin of what was to happen next. Elrohir stared at Erestor's body, at the stream lined musculature that was not at all what he would have imagined. He had not the build of a warrior, but neither was this the slender form of a sedentary scholar. Dark trousers were unbuttoned and removed, revealing a narrow waist and hips, strong thighs, well shaped legs. Erestor fished a small jar out of a pocket before letting the garment fall atop his robes, and Elrohir unconsciously touched his upper lip with the tip of his tongue.

Erestor turned Elladan slightly, and Elladan parted his legs further, bent smoothly at the waist, placed his palms flat on the floor. Elrohir gasped softly, cringed back into the chair. He could now see his brother's flushed face clearly, upside down between Erestor's calves. His eyes were shut, his expression strained. Elrohir's fingers dug into the chair's wine upholstery as he watched the shift of tension to desire as Erestor unstopped the jar, spilled clear oil over his hand and between Elladan's marked buttocks.

Elrohir whimpered faintly as Erestor stepped to one side and placed his left hand on the small of Elladan's back, allowing Elrohir a clear field of vision. The inability to open his eyes had been replaced by an inability to close them as first one finger and then two were slowly inserted into Elladan's body. Two became three as the advisor stroked in and out, corkscrewed, scissored. Elladan moaned again, rocked against the intruding digits as much as he could within the confines of his position. The movement was rewarded with a sharp slap across the healing welts arching over the top swell of his buttocks, and his hiss of startled pain was echoed in Elrohir's sympathetic gasp.

A fourth finger worked its way inside, and Elrohir found himself leaning forward, eyes wide and unblinking. Sweat stood out on Elladan's back; tension was evident in every line of his body, in the lines that had formed at the corners of eyes and mouth. Elrohir's cock strained against his belly, desire renewed, and he shivered as Erestor withdrew his fingers from Elladan's body only to replace them a moment later with his cock.

Elladan's face twisted in indescribable pleasure as he rocked forward precariously, trusting in Erestor's grasp to keep him from falling. Soft, ululating cries passed his lips as Erestor thrust inside of him, cries that became sharper and more keening as the pace increased. Elrohir flinched at each impact of flesh against injured flesh, but Elladan did not seem to be hurt, showed no discomfort or pain in his expression. His hands had curled into fists on the floor, knuckles skidding bruisingly against wood with the increased rhythm and forcefulness. He was no longer supporting himself so much as hanging, allowing the hands on his hips to hold him in position.

Erestor shuddered against him, growled low in his throat as he exploded deep within Elladan's body. The young elf mewled piteously as Erestor slipped his length out of him, his shoulders, arms, and legs trembled as he was held in position for a few moments longer, just long enough for Elrohir to see Erestor's essence beginning to make a slippery trail on his thighs.

His eyes were still closed when Erestor pulled him upright, turned him to face Elrohir. His cock was still hard and slick from the near constant flow of pre orgasmic seed. His lower lip quivered, but he did not flinch away when Erestor kissed his cheek, lightly touched the now damp hair drawn back from his brow.

"Your brother is uncomfortable, Elladan." Erestor murmured. "Wet and sticky and needing to be cleaned."

"Yes, sir." Elladan said in a voice now characterized by jagged edges and breathless want. He did not look at Elrohir as he approached him, dropped to his knees before him. Elrohir stared blankly, then gasped in shock when Elladan insinuated himself between his legs, brought his lips to Elrohir's face.

"No!" He hissed as Elladan lapped at the now cool essence slicked to his chin. Elladan drew back, smiled strangely.

"Thorn." He said, and Elrohir blinked, panting in both anger and want. "Say ‘Thorn' and it's all over. Everything stops." Then his mouth was on Elrohir's chin again, his tongue working a steady, merciless trail down the column of his throat.

The word danced just beyond Elrohir's reach, the magic word that Elladan had given him, the word that he should say, should have already said. His tongue pressed to his teeth in the beginning of a lisp, ready to form the single syllable that would make Elladan stop teasing him with his tongue, make that hot wetness cease to incite lust and desire in his traitor body. He could feel Elladan's cock pressed against the smooth skin of his thigh, could feel his breath tickling saliva slick flesh, had only to look down to see dark hair, to see hands holding his hips in a hot, firm grasp. Yet still he was speechless, speechless as Elladan moved lower between his pectorals, to his belly, down until he could feel the heat of his brother's chin over the head of his cock.

There was a moment of lightening when they touched, and Elrohir could not keep from crying out, hands rising unbidden from the arms of the chair. Then Elladan was gone, and he lay back against the soft cushions, shaking.

"Enough." Erestor's soft voice again, and Elrohir opened his eyes to see him standing beside Elladan, hand on the nape of his brother's neck. "Come here, Elrohir."

And Elrohir did, aware that Erestor was once more fully aroused, aware of Elladan's eyes upon him, not caring about either. He came forward into Erestor's embrace, moaned softly as he was pulled flush against the older elf's body, as his rock hardness slid deliciously against Erestor's. Elladan whimpered, but he found that he did not care about that, either. He was being propelled towards the bed, and Elladan had been left by the chair with no further instructions, and it did not matter, did not matter at all.

The counterpane was cool and then warm beneath him; Erestor's hands were hot upon him. Elrohir writhed beneath that touch, twisted sensually like a cat in a patch of sunlight. He had never had a male lover before, though he had thought about it many times during the turbulent years of his adolescence. Females he had had, yes, fumblingly in the heat of youthful enthusiasm and then with more skill as enthusiasm blossomed into experience. He knew what it was to have soft flesh twist beneath him, to feel himself engulfed in tight wetness that was a completion in and of itself. Those things he knew, but he had also imagined this, though not with Erestor, not with Elladan looking on, not in this context. It didn't matter, though in an incoherent fashion he knew that later it would.

Erestor's tongue lapped at his nipples, nipped at them with his teeth, and Elrohir bit back a cry of mingled pain and pleasure. Elladan had not licked him there, had assiduously followed his assigned trail from chin to cock, caught within invisible bonds that Elrohir only vaguely understood. There were no such restraints on Erestor, and Elrohir arched upward into him, shoulders pressed into the pillows, collar bones standing out sharply, sweat sheened.

He felt the touch between his legs, a touch more intimate even than that which Erestor had given him earlier. He held his breath, forced himself to relax. Elladan had enjoyed this, had clearly welcomed this wanton openness followed by a joining of flesh. Slick fingers stroked, pressed against his opening, and Elrohir opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling as he was slowly, carefully penetrated.

He was not aware of when Elladan joined him on the bed, but when he turned his head on the pillow Elladan was beside him, watching him. Erestor had pushed Elrohir's legs apart and back, and Elladan held one of them against his hip as he lay on his side, head propped on his hand. For the first time since he had entered this room, Elrohir felt no urge to look away. The finger within him probed, pushed him to the edge of pain and then slightly over it as another digit was added. He bit his lower lip, winced, and Elladan touched his cheek.

"Relax, Elrohir." He whispered, and Elrohir nodded, tried to comply. His tongue danced against his teeth in the beginning of a simple, one syllable word as a third finger was added. Then the angle shifted. Gently thrusting fingers brushed against some secret place inside of him, and he arched upward, gasping, and thought vanished in a haze of starlight.

His hands went to the backs of his knees, spreading and bracing them, and for a split second he imagined Elladan this way, saw his brother in this pose while Erestor wielded the lash, thought he could understand why Elladan would be willing to lie thusly. Instead of dampening his desire, this exquisitely clear image fanned the flames. He rocked forward against Erestor's fingers, imagined the cutting bite of leather on his own inner thighs, felt steel beginning to turn molten within him at each inward thrust.

Then the fingers were gone, and he had no time to voice his disappointment. His lips parted, but no sound passed them as Erestor's cock stretched him, slid inside not quickly but without pause, filled him. Elladan's lips were pressed to his cheek; a hand was on his cock. Elrohir did not know whose, nor did he wish to know. His arms shook, legs quivered, and Erestor remained perfectly still within him, too much, too suddenly, and he felt as if he had been split apart. All words were gone in that moment of crystalline shock and pain, even words of one syllable.

It seemed that an age had passed before the worst of it had settled into discomfort, until he could hear and understand the soft words of encouragement being whispered in his ear. He whimpered when Erestor moved within him, tried to speak. Then language failed him once again as Erestor rubbed against that magical spot within him.

Elrohir had no idea how Elladan had kept from climaxing while Erestor had been taking him. There was no way he could last like this, no hope when Erestor was stroking deep inside of him, when the mysterious hand was stroking his cock in delicious counterpoint. He arched upward off of the bed, hips raised, knees held apart as he was overtaken by ecstasy. Then Elladan was poised over him and behind him, holding his legs back for him, and he could only lay trembling with the after shocks of bliss while Erestor continued to rock in and out of his unresisting body.

He felt the convulsing within him as Erestor reached his climax, felt the burn of his seed. The grip on his legs was loosened, and he allowed them to collapse bonelessly to the mattress. Erestor covered him, kissed him He felt impossibly tired, dreamy, disjointed. His head lay between his brother's bare thighs, and as Elladan leant forward for his own kiss Elrohir felt his cock brush against his cheek.

"You too, little one?" Erestor asked, and Elladan swallowed.

"Yes, please."

"Since you ask so sweetly." He slid off of Elrohir's body, settled to one side and curved his arm over the younger twin's chest. Elrohir's heart beat, which had just begun to resume its normal rhythm, sped up as he realized what Erestor was doing. Elladan moaned above and behind him, and Elrohir's eyes widened at the sensation of Erestor's thumb slipping back and forth against his braids. He closed his eyes tightly and flinched a few moments later at the hot rain that splashed against the side of his face. Then Erestor was covering him once more, lapping cat-like at the warm liquid sliding toward the pillow.

Elladan scooted down from the head of the bed and laid down next to Elrohir, snuggled close against him. For a moment Elrohir stiffened, and then relaxed in his twin's embrace. The situation was simply too surreal to do anything but go along with it. Erestor had finished his ministrations and now lay at his other side, gazing down at him.

"So, then?" He asked, and Elrohir could only stare. Elladan giggled. Erestor smiled. "Will you stay the night?"

"Yes, stay with us, Elrohir." Elladan mumbled against his shoulder. Impossibly, the older twin looked as if he were already half asleep. "And could you get me my nighty, Erestor?"

"Your nighty?" Elrohir managed, and was almost beset by a fit of hysterical laughter at Elladan's response.

"You don't expect me to sleep without a night shirt, do you?"

"Definitely not." Erestor rose from the bed, fetched the requested night shirt. Elladan sat up sleepily and pulled it over his head. When Erestor rejoined them, he gently but firmly pushed in between the two. Elladan immediately nestled into his arms and after a brief, uncertain pause Elrohir did likewise.

"Love you, Erestor." Elladan mumbled, and Erestor kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, too, little one."

Elrohir said nothing, stared at the ceiling long after the other two had drifted into reverie.

*****


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning and day after. Elrohir is unhappy, Erestor is a bastard, Elladan is confused and manipulative.

He did not want to spend his day indoors, and he envied his brother's time spent with Glorfindel in sparring and practicing the routines of a soldier and leader of soldiers. It could just as easily have been him in Elladan's place; he had chosen to learn the diplomatic, political end of Imladris's operation when their father had suggested it was time for them to take on new responsibilities. Of course, he would eventually learn both, just as he had learned to handle a sword as well as a quill, but at the moment the last thing he needed or wanted was quiet, confinement, and dignified restraint. He wanted a strong, unyielding opponent upon whom he could unambiguously vent the plethora of mixed, confusing emotions that made the papers in front of him so difficult to concentrate on.

Across the room from him, Erestor sat at his own desk. He had once thought that it was an excellent idea to share Erestor's office space since this work was, in a way, an extension of his classroom education. He was not yet called upon to handle the higher priority correspondences between Imladris and Mirkwood and ‘Lorien, nor with the human and dwarven leaders, but he was often asked to review such matters, or to give his opinion. There was much history behind many of the seemingly simple offers and requests that made their way to the Lord of Imladris's desk, and Elrohir had often found Erestor's knowledge invaluable. In the classroom he had learned history in broad, panoramic swaths, but here he was learning the nuts and bolts of it, the small things that did not make it into the history books, but were nonetheless essential to the ongoing, amicable relations of kingdoms.

He did not want to call Erestor over today, not for more background on an issue with King Thranduil, not to ask him what exactly had happened at the midsummer festival five centuries past, and not to ask him why there wasn't any more ink in the supply closet and where he should go to find more. He didn't even want to look at Erestor, who was going about his business as if nothing untoward had happened between them.

He was sore in places he had never even considered before, and he was running dangerously low on black ink. Elrohir never would have believed that such circumstances could relate to one another, or that they could cause such a great degree of consternation.

Elrohir had awakened to the touch of Erestor's lips upon his own and Erestor's hand sliding through the unbound tangles of his dark hair. He had responded in sleep languor -- slow and lazy against the warmth of Erestor's body and eyes closed against the sting of morning light. He had opened to the kiss with unthinking trust, only registering that something was wrong when he had tried to dominate, to push back, to taste the warm, wet confines beyond his partner's lips. Elrohir's hands had moved to slide around a back that was too broad and too strong, and then his hands had been caught, held over his head. Memory had returned, and his body had grown still beneath the chief advisor's. It had seemed to him that he could almost hear the blood rushing in his veins, but, inexplicably, he had not struggled away from the kiss.

Eyes of liquid darkness had stared into his when their kiss broke. Elrohir had gasped for breath, and his lips had formed soundlessly around a word spoken far too late and now irrelevantly. There had been nothing between them but a kiss, but one that was somehow more deeply personal and intrusive than anything that had gone before. Erestor had smiled, kissed him again, gently, on the forehead. And that had been all.

He had not seen Erestor at breakfast. The chief advisor was already at his desk when Elrohir had stepped through the office door, and the younger elf's heart had momentarily frozen at the sight of him. They had exchanged greetings, Erestor had commented idly on the weather, and Elrohir had made his way to his own desk on legs that felt as if they were made of jelly.

His head jerked up at the sound of a soft thud before him. A fresh jar of ink sat on the blotter, and Elrohir's eyes darted upwards to Erestor's. The advisor's lips were curled in a smile that was imperfectly reflected in his eyes.

"I thought you might be needing this."

"Yes, thank you."

Erestor took the paper Elrohir had been looking at, glanced over it briefly.

"This was near the top of the pile." He said, and Elrohir glared. Erestor seemed unfazed.

"Perhaps you could use a small holiday?" There was sympathy in his expression, a softening of chocolate brown eyes. He touched Elrohir's shoulder, and Elrohir shrugged the hand violently away.

"Don't do that!" He spat. Erestor brought his hand back to his side, regarded Elrohir inquisitively, waited. At last the younger elf answered.

"Yes, I could do with a break." He muttered. Erestor nodded.

"Tomorrow, then."

*****

Even Elrond might not have recognized the storm of emotion taking place within his youngest son, but Elladan saw it immediately.

It was not usual for Elrohir to be away from the house in the middle of the day, nor for him to be at the barracks. Nor was it typical for him to be standing in the armory looking over the collected weapons with a glare that seemed to indicate that they had committed some grave and personally injurious insult to him. Elladan watched as he chose a pair of matched knives and sliced the air in front of him in a graceful arc to test their weight and balance.

"Not much work today?" He asked, and Elrohir whirled, crouched, knives at the ready. Elladan raised his hands in mock surrender, and Elrohir let the weapons drop to his sides.

"I'm sorry, brother. I didn't hear you come in."

"I noticed." He shut the door and crossed the room. The two stood facing each other in the orange glow of the lanterns, their faces turned feral by the flames. "Why didn't you bring your own? We could spar."

"I didn't think about it." Elrohir said shortly. He turned on his heel and re-sheathed the weapons before setting them aside. "I don't want to spar with you."

The words could be interpreted in a variety of ways. Elladan considered the live steel hidden in leather sheathes and thought about blood, and about metaphorical steel that could likewise be sheathed. He thought about emotions running high and hot, and about how easily accidents could happen.

"Elrohir." He sighed, glanced down at his boots. "Do you want me to apologize?"

"No."

He sat down on a bench, elbows on knees, chin on hands. "I'm sorry, anyway, Elrohir. I don't know what to say to you."

Elrohir inhaled deeply, grappled with his temper, and lost his grip.

"No? You don't know what to say? And it didn't occur to you that things might change, maybe just a little bit, Elladan?"

"I know I was being selfish." He bit the words off, lips stiff around their shape. He did not know if he had been being selfish or not, or whether what had happened on the previous night had been what he wanted.

"Do you know what you're doing? I mean, do you have any idea at all?" Elrohir said, rounding on his brother. Elladan glared up at him, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Or do you just say, ‘Yes, sir,' and hope to Elbereth that everything comes out alright?"

"I don't recall hearing you argue."

Elrohir reacted without thinking, arm rising and falling, hand open. Elladan caught his wrist before Elrohir's palm could connect with his cheek, and for a moment they stared at each other, their faces made more identical by the look of shock they both wore.

"Elladan, I'm sorry." Elrohir whispered. Elladan patted the bench next to him, and Elrohir sank down beside him, head bowed.

"We're a sorry pair, indeed, this day." Elladan replied, chuckling mirthlessly. He glanced at his brother's profile, took in the closed eyes and compressed lips. "I didn't want to be alone. Sometimes it's rather… intense."

Elrohir barked laughter. "Oh, intense. Yes, that's a good word for it."

"You had a choice, I asked you and you said you would." He knew his words were lies as he spoke them. He had not really told Elrohir anything, only enough to pique his curiosity. And there was no choice after a certain point, not when the choice of refusal felt so much like cowardice, like running away. Not when remaining felt so good. Elrohir made no reply, but Elladan could see his recognition of the lie in the tightening of his features.

"Do you love me, Elrohir?" He asked simply, pathetically, falling back on an emotional tie that had existed since they had nestled together in their mother's womb. He felt a flare of self loathing within himself at the startled look in Elrohir's eyes, and the immediate shift from tense, frustrated anger to soft contrition. 

"Of course, Elladan. I always will."

*****


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor and Elladan demonstrate the use of their safe word for Elrohir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does not contain sex, but it's nonetheless explicit in nonsexual ways, and could absolutely be triggering to anyone who has suffered mental, emotional, or sexual abuse. I would also like to reiterate that this story does not describe functional BDSM.

"I want to watch you kiss."

*****

Elladan's lips were soft; they tasted of wine and honey. He had not kissed Elladan like this before, though he supposed that in a way he had. Erestor had kissed Elladan, and Erestor had kissed him; if Elrohir had sought for it he might have tasted Elladan on Erestor's lips.

He had not meant to come back. He hadn't even needed to consciously make the decision that he would not. He did not need time to consider it or think it over. Erestor was right. Elladan had made his choice, and if Elladan needed something more than what Erestor was giving him, or needed something to replace what Erestor was taking away, then it was in Elladan's hands alone to change things. He couldn't do this for Elladan. He would not, especially not when he could barely see the brother he had always known anymore. That Elladan had been overlaid by a vision of white silk and cream ruffles, and of cut skin and frightening uncharacteristic docility. Elrohir didn't need to think about it because it was obvious that he could not do that again.

Since he had not needed to consciously make that decision, it came as no surprise to him that his consciousness hadn't seemed to involve itself in his quiet journey to Erestor's chamber door. Elrohir had dressed after his evening bath in a loose shirt and breeches, low shoes that could be casually kicked aside, and of course he had not been thinking that these were clothes that could be easily removed. He hadn't thought about stealth as he'd ghosted along the corridors; he hadn't been thinking of anything at all.

Erestor hadn't gloated when he'd found Elrohir standing at his door, but had only stepped aside and guided Elrohir in. His hand had been hot on Elrohir's back, rubbing in small circles, touching as if by right. Elrohir supposed he did have that right -- that he had given Erestor that right when he'd rapped his knuckles against the heavy oaken door.

He had begun to undress, but Erestor had called Elladan forward as before. This time Elrohir did not shy from his brother's touch, not when bow string callused fingers skated over the smoothness of his chest as his shirt was lifted, and not when his brother knelt to unfasten his breeches with his mouth. Instead he had stood, still yet shivering, and lips parted as Elladan's face nuzzled at his abdomen and between his thighs. He had heard the click of enamel against silver buttons, felt the warmth of breath against bare skin as the cloth parted, and felt the smoothness of cheeks, lips, and chin as Elladan had performed his task while holding the backs of Elrohir's thighs.

And then Erestor had asked them -- no, told them -- to kiss. Something had quivered within Elrohir at the thought, but Elladan had looked up at him expectantly, perhaps even eagerly. He had been beautiful kneeling before him, and the quivering had subsided. He had sunk down on the floor beside him, gathered him into his arms, and kissed him while Erestor looked on from the window seat.

Elladan fit against him perfectly, and Elrohir held him tighter, feeling ferociously protective even as he plundered his brother's mouth. This was not the Elladan he had always known: the trouble maker, the one who always excelled in sports and combat. Not the leader, not the one who was never afraid to back down. Elrohir felt the way Elladan's body conformed to his own, and decided that perhaps this new version overlaid on the old was not so disturbing or frightening.

His hands roamed over silk, and Elladan moaned into Elrohir's mouth. He remembered welts laid in a herring bone pattern down Elladan's back, and deepened his kiss, ran his hands slowly, heavily, methodically from shoulder blades to waist. Elladan whimpered but did not pull away, writhing in Elrohir's arms and shuddering as Elrohir sucked his tongue.

_Surely it couldn't hurt that much_ , Elrohir thought, hands rubbing up and down and increasing pressure, mimicking Erestor's touch on his own back. The wounds had been healing when Elrohir had first seen them, and he had seen Elladan take worse injuries than those on the practice floor. In spite of that he could feel the trembling of his brother's body and could hear his soft, muffled cries against his lips. He slipped his hands beneath the shirt, touched bare flesh, and relented at the tension he could feel under his hands in spite of the soft enthusiasm of the kiss.

A shadow fell over them, and their lips parted. Dismay tangled oddly with arousal as Elrohir gazed into Elladan's moist, lust dilated eyes. His cheeks were damp, and Elrohir lightly touched the salty wetness before looking up at Erestor.

"Pen-rhoven," Erestor said softly, gently. He caught Elrohir's hand and pulled him to his feet. "You have so much to learn. Elladan, rise, turn."

Elrohir sighed at the demonstration of grace once more given as Elladan twisted sinuously to his feet. This time his brother did not wait for the command; he raised his hands over his head, touched his fingertips together to make a perfect, artful arch. Erestor raised an eyebrow at Elrohir and waved him forward.

His mouth felt dry, his throat scratchy as he grasped the hem of the night shirt and lifted it over Elladan's head. He felt oddly compelled to match his brother's gracefulness, and he rose onto his toes, stepped forward to lift the material cleanly. His arousal brushed against the cleft of his brother's buttocks, and for a moment he felt deliciously dizzy.

Erestor caught up the tail of dark hair hanging down Elladan's back and quickly pinned it up in a sloppy knot. He tapped Elladan's arm peremptorily, and he immediately placed his hands on the back of his neck.

"Did you have any objection to what Elrohir was doing to you, Elladan?" Erestor said as he ran a finger along the older twin's spine.

"No, sir."

Erestor turned toward Elrohir, and the expression he wore was identical to that which he had worn in the classroom after making a particularly trenchant point. He passed something from his left hand to his right, and Elrohir saw that hidden in the black folds of his robes Erestor had been holding a riding crop.

He swung the crop in a short, hard arc, connected sharply with the flesh over Elladan's right hip. The blow was followed immediately by another placed in the same place on the opposite side. Elladan sucked in a strained breath; Elrohir held his.

"And that? Do you object to that, Elladan?"

"No, sir." His voice was strained, harsh, the words pushed out from between gritted teeth. Erestor smiled, swung the crop again, harder. The blows came swiftly and seemingly at random, but as the marks rose Elrohir could see a pattern forming around the healing wounds on back, buttocks, and thighs. Sweat stood out on Elladan's body -- every cord and muscle stood out in pained tension as Erestor continued to strike. Elrohir winced at the small, choked sounds he could hear his brother making, and at the sight of his knuckles clenched to whiteness where they laced together at the back of his neck.

"And now, Elladan?"

"No, sir."

"Good. You look quite attractive now, Elladan, very artful."

"Thank you, sir." Elrohir thought he could hear tears in Elladan's voice. He watched, stunned, as Erestor removed his belt.

"I'm going to ruin your design, lirimaer, but you are always beautiful to me." He looped the belt around his hand, buckle snugged against his palm.

There was no pattern to the rain of blows that fell now, no restraint in force, only one brief pause in which Erestor had slipped off his robe. Elladan trembled, rocked slightly on his heels, took air in gasping breaths. Inexplicably, Elrohir's desire had not faded in the least, no matter that he was shaking nearly as badly as his brother.

"On your knees, Elladan." Erestor spoke, and amazingly the advisor was not in the least bit short of breath. Elladan complied, though with less grace than he had previously shown, and Erestor nodded curtly. "Elrohir, open the wardrobe."

He immediately saw what Erestor wanted when he opened the door. A flail hung from a hook, and he stared at it, dazed. Behind him Erestor cleared his throat, and Elrohir removed the flail, turned to look from the implement in his hand to his brother's profile, from menacing strips of black leather to clenched eyes, to the too rapid rise and fall of Elladan's chest with each breath. He took the flail to Erestor, and at a peremptory gesture from the older elf he moved to stand in front of Elladan.

There was no warning given this time, and Elladan arched almost violently away from the flail's kiss, his back describing a nearly perfect arc. This time Erestor allowed for a pause between blows, giving Elladan a chance to recover in between strikes. Elrohir stood over his brother and watched the tension in his face shift to desperate contortion, saw the cords in his neck stand out, and heard his hissed cries become louder, more frantic. Tears flowed freely, and at last Elladan cringed and twisted away from the rising and falling instrument of torture.

"Thorn." He hissed through trembling lips, and though Elrohir's eyes were fixed upon Elladan, he heard the sound of the flail falling to the floor. Elladan collapsed back on his heels, rocked forward, and covered his face. Erestor immediately settled down onto the floor beside him, catching Elrohir's arm as he went and pulling him down as well. 

"I'm sorry, Erestor." Elladan whispered, turning his face away, and Erestor gathered him into his arms.

"No, love, you did fine." Erestor crooned as he gently stroked the dark, sweat soaked hair, and rocked him against his chest. "It's over now, my sweet one, I'm proud of you. You always make me proud of you."

Elladan sobbed against him, and Elrohir wavered, uncertain as to what he should be doing. His desire had faded in the wake of Elladan's tears, and the morbid fascination he had felt while watching Erestor strike his unresisting brother had vanished. Elladan cried, and Erestor rocked him, whispering soft words of comfort to him as if he were a child. At last he turned his head to look at Elrohir.

"Do you see, Elrohir? He will let you know where the boundaries are, and within them you can do as you please."

Elrohir nodded, his voice gone. Erestor lifted Elladan gently and carried him to the bed.

"Stay here with him. I'll be right back." He picked his robe back up from the floor and slipped it on before leaving Elrohir alone with Elladan.

"Are you alright, Elladan?" He asked uncertainly, viewing the bruises and bleeding welts that covered his brother's back in no particular arrangement. It was a stupid question; of course Elladan wasn't alright. But his brother nodded against the pillow, eyes still closed. Elrohir laid down beside him, gently ran his fingers across Elladan's cheek. "I love you, Elladan." He said because he could think of nothing else to say, and Elladan scooted over the few bare inches between them until they touched.

Erestor returned a few moments later bearing a bowl of water and several towels. Elrohir watched mutely as he sat down beside Elladan and began cleaning the fresh wounds. Elladan winced, whimpered, and buried his face in the pillow.

"How is he supposed to work with Glorfindel tomorrow like this?" He asked, meaning to sound angry and outraged. Neither emotion came through; his voice sounded small and childish on the background of Elladan's steady, soft cries.

"He will be well enough by then." Erestor finished up, set the bowl aside. From the top drawer of the bedside table he removed a jar and briskly twisted the lid off. The scent of sweet herbs filled the air. Elladan sighed and visibly relaxed as Erestor spread the salve over his battered flesh. "We heal quickly, and this will aide in that. Does this feel better, Elladan?"

"Mmmhmm." Amazingly, Elladan wore a faint smile. "Thank you, Erestor."

"I love you, little one." Erestor replied, and Elrohir watched in confused dismay.

*****


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after. Elladan and Erestor. Introspection.

He had gone directly to his room after the evening meal, laid prone on his bed, and waited for time to pass. His body ached, and he felt stiff, sore, uncomfortable and out of sorts. It was too early to go to Erestor, and time was passing abominably slowly. Nothing too strenuous would happen tonight, not after yesterday evening, and he looked forward to being held in the chief advisor's warm, strong embrace. Erestor would smooth away the rough edges as he always did.

Elladan hated having to use the safe word, and he rarely had recourse to it. Erestor knew where his limits were, and though he pushed them it was not like him to push too far or too hard at one time. Elladan understood the point he had been making the previous night, but that did not take away the sour sweet taste of shame and defeat.

There was no mystery to be found in pain, no epiphany of nerve endings, no transcending of the flesh. He had read such things, particularly after his first few encounters with the lovely chief advisor. They were lies. Pain was pain; it grounded him in his body, made the possibility of ethereality a hopeless dream, gossamer mist that couldn't be caught. The will to withstand came not in any haze of metaphysical light, but in primary colored emotions. Desire to please, desire to be strong, to look strong, to paradoxically roll over in submission while demonstrating the power of mind over body. To give, and give, and give. When he could give no more there was always that shame, no different than the shame he felt when Glorfindel disarmed him on the practice floor.

It felt so damned good to go a little further, to become a little less himself, a little less Elladan-and-Elrohir even if Elrohir was with him. He smiled to himself as he thought of Elrohir -- of his too pale face and shocked eyes viewed through a fringe of dark lashes. Elrohir watched, but Elladan watched, too. That was his secret. He wondered how many pushes it would take to make Elrohir cry off. Quite a few, he imagined, once his twin settled down to the idea. But then again, perhaps Erestor meant for Elrohir to be the one doing the pushing.

He thought of his brother's hands tracing then rubbing over the old wounds on his back. Thought of their kiss. It had not been like being kissed by Erestor, and the sting of his injuries had been a dizzying counterpoint to the sweetness of Elrohir's lips. Elrohir was afraid, though. Elladan could not help but wonder if Erestor's lesson had been counter productive; his brother had trembled; his flesh had been chill as he lay beside him. Erestor had shown Elrohir the boundary line, but the territory that lay within the boundaries was wide and deep.

He heard the soft knock at the door, and called for Elrohir to enter. He knew it was Elrohir; he recognized the sound of his brother's knuckles impacting with oak as surely as he recognized all else about him. Elrohir ghosted in, eyes downcast. Elladan did not look away, though he wanted to.

"Greetings, brother." He said mildly, and Elrohir crossed to sit beside him on the bed. Elrohir reached to lay a hand on his shoulder, and then drew it back, remembering random cuts and welts.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"I don't know." He glanced at Elladan obliquely. "Does it hurt?"

Elladan smirked, considered giving a sarcastic reply. Didn't. "Yes, but not as badly as you probably think."

"May I see?"

Elladan knelt up, removed his shirt, carefully plucking at the material instead of dragging it over his skin. Elrohir's breath caught, and a moment later Elladan felt a hesitant finger touching lightly between red welts.

"Are you going to go back?"

"Yes." He cast Elrohir an impatient look. "He is my lover, Elrohir. It's not as if we have not been with each other for the past year and a half."

"I thought you wanted my help."

"I said that I didn't want to be alone."

"Is that how you feel? With your lover?"

"No. Sometimes." Elladan frowned. "I hated that last night."

Elrohir winced. "I don't doubt it."

"No, not that. Having to make him stop." He sighed in frustration at Elrohir's confused look. "That makes me feel so small, Elrohir, when I have to tell him I can't do it anymore."

"This happens often?" Elrohir asked neutrally, and Elladan shook his head.

"Hardly ever. But last night. You. He wanted to show you."

"I don't think I want to see anymore."

"You seemed to like it well enough from what I saw." There was no mockery in his tone, no ire. "Until the end, anyway."

"I can't bear to see you cry, Elladan. I haven't seen you weep since we were children."

Elladan blushed. "I'm sorry."

"Dammit, don't do that!" Elrohir hissed, and it was Elladan's turn to look confused.

"What?"

"Apologize like that." Elrohir gritted his teeth. "It's like something you would say to him." He ran a hand through his hair, and Elladan noted that he had taken his braids out, that the shirt he wore was loose about the neck, and his trousers were laced rather than buttoned. "You told me at the river that you knew the difference between love and infatuation. I'm not sure that I believe you."

He turned atop the bed to face Elladan, legs curving about his brother's thighs as he cupped his face in his hands. "Let me love you, Elladan." He whispered, leant in for a kiss.

*****

The twins were curled up on the bed together, both nude out of consideration for Elladan's injured back. They had been late, and had offered no excuse for their tardiness. Erestor had said nothing, but had simply stepped back to allow them entrance. He could guess well enough what had kept them by their flushed faces and mussed hair, though he doubted their encounter had gone much further than a few gentle caresses.

Elladan's gaze had been guilty, but he had said nothing to the young elf about it. Instead he had kissed him, run his hands through his hair, and chivalrously guided him to the bed after undressing him. He had performed the same service for Elrohir, much to the younger twin's surprise. Elladan was in no condition for rough games in spite of what he had said to Elrohir, and Erestor did not think that Elrohir was ready.

Elladan had been easy. Erestor had known Elladan would be easy, and it had been Elladan whom he had fallen in love with though he wasn't sure why. Logically, it should have been Elrohir. Elrohir was the challenge, not Elladan, who acted without thinking and put his entire being into everything he did. Once the matters of seduction and persuasion were done with, the sky was the limit with Elladan. It would never be that way with Elrohir, Erestor knew. Elrohir would take two steps back for each step forward. He'd take time to think, and he'd bargain and push. Elrohir would play this like a game of chess rather than dance it like a waltz.

Elrohir liked what he was seeing, and that was the problem. Erestor had watched his face surreptitiously while ordering Elladan, while touching Elladan, and then while whipping Elladan with crop, belt, and flail. Elrohir was appalled, but he was also excited. His face had been ghost white and his cock hard. He had laid down in the too wide bed trembling, and had returned this evening after telling himself he would never set foot in this chamber again. Erestor saw all of that, and knew it would not take too much time or effort to persuade Elrohir to take the whip if not to kneel beside his brother.

He glanced up from his journal and watched as the two nestled close to each other, touching and quietly murmuring so low that only their ears could hear. He had left them to their own devices while he finished with his writing, and they moved together more easily and naturally than they did when posed on the center rug or positioned on the bare floor. Erestor smiled.

Beneath Elrohir's cool, reasoned surface was a fire that Erestor knew would not disappoint him, and Elladan could not disappoint him. Elladan had given him everything and continued to give him everything, he allowed himself to be broken open so that Erestor could behold the soft beating of his heart and hold it in his hand. It amazed him sometimes that Elladan could give so freely and so completely. He had not lied when he'd said that he did not love Elladan for what Elladan allowed; the gifts he gave on bent knee and with bound hands were only the outward expression of what Elladan had to offer.

Erestor set aside his book, went to the bed and two sets of eyes, one warm with affection and the other narrowed with uncertain hopefulness. 

*****


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir has more questions for Erestor. He reflects on their answers and on his own feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should go without saying, but I feel compelled to state that Erestor's real world counterparts are not the good guys.

It was only marginally easier to spend his days in Erestor's company, but Elrohir was slowly adjusting. He no longer stared at the letters, lists, and notes that came across his desk as if they were written in an unfamiliar language, and it was once again becoming apparent that he was doing something in the office besides gazing off into the distance. Erestor had not chided him for his behavior, or mocked him, or shown any amusement at his expense. His father, on the other hand, had asked him if he was feeling quite alright. That had spurred him to resume his previous efforts much more successfully than Erestor's quiet patience had.

"It's a lovely day, Elrohir, too lovely to spend indoors. Would you care to have lunch with me in the gardens?"

"Sounds good." Elrohir congratulated himself on his even tone. He did not want to have lunch with the chief advisor; he did not want to idle in the gardens with him. He also was not a coward. Inwardly he smirked. _You lie in his bed, and that is fine, you let him do whatsoever he wishes, and that is fine, too. But you behave like a frightened rabbit when he sits decently at his desk, and have heart palpitations when he asks you to lunch._

The kitchen maids packed them a basket and Elrohir carried it, intentionally taking the lead as they set out. The path he took led them to a small gazebo near enough to the house to be visible from his father's office window, yet distant enough to afford them conversational privacy. Erestor smiled as he took a seat at the table; his dark eyes sparkled as he glanced knowingly toward the Last Homely House. Elrohir refused to blush or look away from his amused gaze.

"Perhaps you should have brought a chaperone, too? Your brother, maybe?" Erestor grinned. "Oh, but that wouldn't work, now would it?"

Elrohir said nothing, but began to unpack the basket. Without thinking he made up plates for both of them, removed the carefully wrapped glasses and bottle of wine, and poured them each a drink. Erestor thanked him as he passed him his plate and silverware, and Elrohir glanced up sharply.

"Do I impress you as being utterly mannerless as well as being the sort to molest young elves during my lunch break?" 

Elrohir smiled sweetly. "Forgive me the insult to your manners, but you must admit that you do have a history of lunchtime molestation."

Erestor laughed. "Point taken." He picked up a slice of bread and began buttering it. "Still, it's not something I make a habit of."

"Let's cut to the chase." Elrohir gazed at him levelly as he raised his glass. "What do you want?"

Erestor chewed contemplatively, taking the time to think as he swallowed. Elrohir was not going to dance or fish obliquely for answers. Erestor knew that he and Elladan talked frequently, and he also knew that what Elladan had to say was not of much help to Elrohir. It was for this reason that he had decided to invite the young elf to the garden. Now all that was left was finding the right words to answer his questions.

"What I want… What do you think I want?"

Elrohir shook his head impatiently. "No, I'm not playing."

"Neither am I." Erestor sighed. "Perhaps this was not one of my better ideas." He said to himself more than to Elrohir, but he saw the frown of incipient anger on his companion's face. "No, I'm not trying to play you. But you want to know."

Elrohir waited, saying nothing. It was a trick Erestor had taught him, and one that he had seen Erestor himself use to good effect on an almost nightly basis for the past week.

"I love Elladan, and Elladan loves me and you. Do you see?"

"I don't see a damned thing."

"No, you don't." Erestor said with controlled vehemence. "Mainly because you refuse to look at what's directly in front of you. Does it look to you as if Elladan is being forced to do anything he doesn't want? That he's being taken advantage of? And how long are you going to continue to tell yourself that you come back every night to protect your brother from my depravation?"

Elrohir colored and wiped grease from his fingers with a cloth napkin. The roast meat on his plate no longer held any appeal. "He is not thinking clearly."

"And you are?" Erestor looked skeptical. "I think you deceive yourself, melethron nin."

"Don't call me that!" Elrohir said, and a flash of anger sparked in Erestor's eyes.

"Fine, I won't. And I won't insult you by implying that it's the ardor of my love making that makes you lose control; we both know you have more self control than that. But what is it, Elrohir?"

"This is not about me."

"Really? I would have sworn that it was you whom I woke up beside this morning."

"You don't love me!" Elrohir blurted. Erestor's eyes widened, and the younger elf blushed scarlet.

"Ah, so that is what's troubling you." He said softly. His dark eyes were warm, sympathetic. "Still, I am not sure I understand since you doubt that I love Elladan, also. And that doesn't explain what the draw is."

The color had faded from Elrohir's cheeks; his expression was once more inscrutable. Erestor hid his smile. _You're good, Elrohir_ , he thought admiringly, _but you are so young_.

"You know he loves you?" Elrohir asked, and a small smile ghosted about his lips.

"Yes."

"No doubts." Elrohir folded his napkin, laid it over his plate. "Because of what he does for you."

Erestor looked at him condescendingly. "You know better than that. Love and sex are not the same."

"You're getting quite a bit more than sex, though."

Erestor shrugged. "I'm getting quite a bit from you, as well."

Elrohir nodded, his expression unchanging. "Be that as it may be. Still, at the least you know from this that he trusts you -- trusts you implicitly. Is that trust well founded?"

"Yes." There was no cutting edge to Erestor's tone now, and no mockery in his voice. He looked at Elrohir levelly, sincerity clearly revealed in his dark eyes. "I would never, ever betray his trust."

"Then that is well enough. For now." There was the faintest hint of bitterness in his voice, but Erestor let it go. "Shall we return?"

"Yes." Erestor rose, and watched as Elrohir swiftly re-packed their basket. "Do you want the remainder of the afternoon off?"

Elrohir cast him a glance that was somewhat patronizing. "No, I don't think that will be necessary."

"Good. There's quite a bit left to be done."

*****

He watched his brother enter the dining hall with Glorfindel, laughing at something the blonde warrior had said. Not for the first time Elrohir wished that it had been Glorfindel whom Elladan had taken a fancy to -- golden maned, lion-hearted, gentle spirited Glorfindel who would not have put them in such a situation. It would have been natural for Elladan to have developed a crush on the beautiful weapon's master, and it would have been so cliched as to have been the obvious choice for a physically active, aggressive elf recently passed his majority. Perhaps he even had been Elladan's first choice; ethical behavior and his vows to their father might have prevented Glorfindel from allowing such an infatuation to develop.

The routines of daily life felt skewed to Elrohir. The thrice daily gathering of the household about the dining table felt oddly, impossibly normal. He and Elladan would tell their parent's about their day, Elladan with more enthusiasm than the day's events usually warranted. Arwen would pester him, Erestor, and Elrond for news from abroad and details of political happenings; she was clearly destined to become a stateswoman or ambassador though she had yet to reach her coming of age. Then general conversation would ensue, topics growing and shifting, splitting into groups and then overlapping. No one would have guessed that three of them held a secret that would shock the entire household to silence --would shatter crystal, douse the fires, and bring the roof beams of the house down in a protesting shriek of horror.

He had thought about what Erestor had asked. The advisor had not come right out and said it, but Elrohir understood what had been implied. He came back because he liked what he saw and felt, however much he also hated it. His anger with Erestor was at least partially misplaced; he trembled with lust and loathing at the sight of pain inflicted, not out of offense at his brother's treatment, but because he wanted to be in Erestor's place. So much easier to spend his days angry, feeling the near constant urge to wrap his hands around Erestor's throat than it would be to turn those feelings inwards toward himself. And then at night he could let it all go and become someone else. Not Elladan-and-Elrohir.

Not that all of his anger was misplaced. He cast a swift glance to the end of the table where Erestor was laughing along with Elrond and Elladan. If it hadn't been for Erestor he could have happily gone through eternity without ever knowing that his brother tasted like honey and wine. He would never have known how incredibly delicious he looked when his body was arching away from the lash, how his sweat tasted, or how utterly delectable he was in his willing helplessness when left blindfolded in a silent room.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which no one gets what they want. Sex, angst, and conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, another skeevy, potentially triggering sex scene served with a double scoop of angst.

Erestor kissed Elrohir, slowly and deeply, holding Elrohir's wrists behind his back as he perched on his lap. He kissed him as if there was nothing in the universe but him. Elladan has said something to him about this -- that when he was with Erestor he felt that all of Erestor's attention was on him, and that he was the only thing of importance. Elrohir felt the same way, even with Elladan at their feet, leant against his dangling leg.

It had been several days since their discussion in the garden, and Erestor had been unusually gentle with him, less reserved, and more affectionate. He had been so with Elladan, also, and Elladan had been lapping it up like a cat at a bowl of cream. Elrohir wanted to feel unsettled and disgusted. He didn't.

Erestor knotted his fingers in Elladan's hair with his free hand, but there was no pull as Elladan rose from the floor to join them in the wing-back chair. He unfolded himself from the floor and settled onto Erestor's thigh, never feeling any pressure or outstripping the speed Erestor set. It was a simple movement, with nothing obvious about it. It was a movement that typified Elladan. He was water flowing gracefully within the channel set for him, a river made remarkable for doing no more than remaining within its banks.

Elrohir's back and shoulders ached from Erestor's hold. He could not move, and he felt as if his shoulders were on the verge of dislocating. He didn't want to move. Elladan nestled in the warm comfort of Erestor's encircling arm, and Elrohir moaned as his twin's hand similarly circled his arousal. Not a new sensation, but new to be touched thusly by Elladan -- new to be held, now with an ankle hooked about his as well as with his arms held back, while Elladan did this.

Slide and hold, pearls of milky essence appearing and then slipping from his slit, and Elladan's thumb gliding in it, swirling over the tip with an expertise that made Elrohir want to squirm and twist away. His muffled cries became pleading even as his hips moved, pumped into his brother's grip. What motion he was allowed contradicted the screaming in his mind, and when Elladan slid back downwards and Erestor released his mouth, even his lips could not translate those cries.

He was as skilled with his mouth as with his hands. Elrohir shuddered with pleasure while tears made silver trails down his cheeks. Elladan's mouth was hot and wet, and its suction rhythmically maddening. He took his brother's length to the back of his throat and swallowed convulsively, and Elrohir arched forward, no longer caring if his shoulders were wrenched from their sockets.

Erestor's hand was hot on his face, keeping his visage tilted and turned so that he could see Elrohir bared in this deeply primal way, this nakedness that went so much further than the removal of clothes. Elrohir moaned, a cry of negation that went oddly with his wanton tone, wide spread legs, and thrusting hips. Erestor's gaze was hotter than his hands, and so much more intense. Elladan swallowed him again, and between that and the perversely erotic sense of being watched he was propelled mercilessly into ecstasy.

He collapsed backwards as his wrists were released, grateful for Erestor's arm immediately enfolding him. Elladan's head rested against his inner thigh, lips brushing against his softening member, and Elrohir did not know if he wanted to scream, cry, kick or kiss the elf resting so peacefully between his legs. Erestor kissed his temple and gently ran a hand through his hair. He felt as if something within him were breaking. His aching shoulders began to shake and his lips trembled. Elladan kissed his thigh.

"Precious one." Erestor whispered in his ear, "My lirimaer. Whom are you doing this for?"

"Not you." He said. His words were frail and transparent, barely a breath.

"For Elladan?" Dance of hair against the inside of his knee as Elladan glanced up. Elrohir refused to open his eyes. Refused to answer. Erestor touched his cheek. "Will you return the favor?"

"No." His lips barely moved. "I… no. Please."

"I won't force you to do anything, Elrohir." He stood, lifting Elrohir out of his lap as he did so, set him aside. "And now, if you two will excuse me, there is something I forgot in my office that I must retrieve before morning." He strode to the door, and Elrohir stood beside his kneeling brother, staring, unbelieving.

"You… you can't…" He stammered.

"I can't what?" Erestor glanced over his shoulder, hand on the door knob. Elrohir licked his lips, and Erestor shrugged eloquently, opened the door, left.

*****

Silk tore as he hauled Elladan to his feet. No gracefulness of flowing water this time -- no erotic, obscene ballet. His brother stumbled as he was jerked upwards by the heavy lace at his neck line.

"That was premeditated," Elrohir said flatly as he jerked his brother forward until they stood nearly nose to nose. Elladan's eyes narrowed; he grabbed Elrohir's wrists, twisted and pulled. With a pained cry Elrohir lost his grip and would have fallen if Elladan hadn't caught him.

"So you were the one in the dark this time. So what?" Elladan's face was dark with defensiveness, shame, and fear. Elrohir regarded him in frustrated, humiliated anger as he rubbed his wrists.

"I shouldn't have to answer that, and I don't believe I have to." 

"Oh?" Elladan stepped closer. His voice sounded small. "Let me love you. Do you remember saying that?"

"That wasn't love."

Elladan's face tensed, then grew still. "You deny that I love you, then?"

"No, Elladan, dammit, you know that's not what I mean!" He ran his hand through his hair, worn loose as per Erestor's request. "You know I love you, Elladan, but this… This is. Something else."

Elladan shrugged. "So, where is it that you draw the line, then? I didn't ask you to come to my room that night."

Elrohir's face colored. "I care about you, Elladan. I am concerned."

"Oh, so that was… concern." Elladan smirked, but the sarcastic expression did not hide his hurt. "You kissed me as if I were your lover, the way Erestor likes to see us kiss." Elrohir said nothing and looked away. Elladan grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Very well, then. I'll say what you're afraid to say. I want this. You. And here I can do what I want."

"It doesn't look that way to me." Elrohir said through gritted teeth as he knocked his brother's hand away from his face. "You do what Erestor wants."

"On the surface." Elladan smiled. "If I have no choices, then I have no guilt either, do I?"

"Oh, please." Elrohir's tone was impatient. "After all you've said to me about choices."

"You've never asked him to stop. Could you, really?"

"You did."

"That was different."

Elrohir did not waste time arguing the obvious truth of his brother's statement. He bowed his head and pressed his fingers to his forehead. He could feel the beginning of a dull throbbing headache -- a steady ache that would follow him through the night.

"You want this."

"I love you, Elrohir." Elladan said, and Elrohir stared tiredly at him through his spread fingers. More truth. Plain, simple, immutable truth that could not be argued, fought, or denied. Elladan loved him. He loved Elladan. They were statements of menace that could be spoken over the dinner table; they were the innocent surface of something previously, blessedly undiscovered.

"I couldn't do this alone." Elladan glanced down nervously, picked at the torn lace at his throat. "Erestor, though… I can do what Erestor wants and have what I want. And it's not my fault." There was a hint of desperation in his tone, in his expression. "Do you see?"

It reminded him hideously of Erestor's words in the garden. "You draw a fine line, brother. More so even than the one you've accused me of drawing."

"Perhaps. But still." His lifted his eyes to meet Elrohir's, and in spite of his nudity Elrohir felt that it was his brother who was more naked, more painfully exposed. "Will you… Do you still?"

"You know the answer." He reached forward, took his brother's hand. It seemed that he bridged an immense gulf, reached further than was possible, too far. "I won't say, ‘no,' next time, Elladan." He turned towards the bed, drew Elladan by the hand and shoved away the image of Erestor leading him in this very same way. "Come to bed."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan and Elrohir converse. Elrohir continues to try to understand what's going on between Elladan and Erestor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erestor's behaviors can easily be interpreted as predatory and/or grooming. If you've experienced emotional, mental, or sexual abuse, this work could easily be triggering. If you haven't already left, but you're feeling increasingly uncomfortable with this story, this would be a great time to leave.

Elladan wielded the twin blades as if they were extensions of himself -- easily, and with frightening beauty. It was the same grace that Elrohir had noted on the many nights he had watched his brother in a very different dance of fluid motion, and Elrohir felt a sense of dislocation as he watched Elladan advance on his opponent. It was a feeling Elrohir was becoming accustomed to. He was his brother's twin, but it seemed that Elladan had been twinned again; two versions of him breathed the air of Imladris and drifted confoundingly through Elrohir's thoughts. Two versions, or maybe even three, because the soft being who nestled in his arms late at night was yet different from the one who bowed for Erestor, and from this creature of dangerous speed and aggression now before him.

There was no work to be done today; their father allotted two days of the week for rest from routine chores and nonessential business. It didn't surprise Elrohir that Elladan had chosen to remain after morning patrol to work with the younger elves though he was not required to do so. Elladan had always been the more active of the two of them, the one most likely to volunteer for strenuous work, and he had taken to combat training quickly and easily. For the sake of propriety, he only helped Glorfindel with elves younger than himself, some just beginning their training and no where near to being permitted a place on patrols and guard duty, but Elrohir knew that his brother could already best many of his elders. He had worked hard to achieve that skill. Elrohir frowned as he thought of that. Perhaps Elladan had always felt a deep desire to excel, to please.

Elladan's opponent dodged the whirling blades driving in toward his chest, but lost his balance as he did so. He fell to his knees, and one of his long practice swords flew from his hand and landed with a dull thud in the dirt several feet away. The tip of Elladan's weapon lightly touched the hollow of his throat as he brought his remaining sword up too late to block the mock fatal blow. Elladan grinned good-naturedly as he sheathed his weapons, and reached to pull the young elf to his feet. He began demonstrating his maneuver, slowly guiding the younger elf through the motions. Elrohir cleared his throat.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Elladan said something to his student and clapped him on the shoulder. The elf wore a star struck look as he walked back toward the barracks, and Elrohir smiled. Clearly the youngling had a crush on his beautiful instructor. It was reassuring to see that outside the confines of their own strange world, nature was running in its usual, predictable course.

"Do you have many of them like that?" Elrohir asked, grinning, as he approached. "Who go to bed at night and dream that you would call them to train in more intimate matters?"

Elladan blushed and laughed. "Oh, a few. It seems strange sometimes, being looked up to like that. I'm still learning, too."

"Glorfindel must be pleased."

Elladan glanced away, but the blush remained. "I guess so." He said shyly, and Elrohir shook his head in amusement.

"Did you ever have a crush on him? Like that?" He gestured vaguely toward the barracks.

"Well… yes." Elladan glanced down at his feet for a moment. His ears were turning scarlet. "Back before. You know."

"Did you ever?"

"No. I was going to approach him, but then, well, there was Erestor. And then I didn't want to anymore."

"You were going to ask Glorfindel? I think I would have been a little more… subtle" He gaped at his brother's audacity. Elladan gave him a puzzled look.

"Sure. How else does one get anywhere, except by asking? And I didn't have either the patience or experience for seduction. I mean, come on Elrohir, this is Glorfindel we're talking about. I'm sure he's been flirted with a time or two before, possibly even by perilously young elves in the throes of their first infatuation."

"You've got a point." Elrohir snickered. "Still, I imagine that takes quite a bit of the fun out of it for Glorfindel if his partners just assume he's seen it all and go directly for the main event."

"Well, I didn't mean to be quite that forthright." Elladan's dark eyes sparkled with merriment. "I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, though, if I had tried something like that. ‘Oh, Glorfindel, I'm done with archery practice for the day, and I see you're almost done, so how about if you take my virginity when you're finished with the officer's log?'"

Elrohir laughed until he could barely stand, head bowed and shoulders shaking. "I would have loved to have seen that, too! Poor Glorfindel!" At last he regained control, and his laughter abated to occasional chuckles. "So what made you ask Erestor instead?"

"I didn't." Elladan's face glowed with happiness and pride. "He asked me." He took Elrohir's arm, casually tugged him in the direction of the armory. "I'm still not entirely sure why. It's not as if I covered myself in glory under his tutelage."

"I don't think that's an issue, Elladan." He rolled his eyes at his brother. "I have yet to see him quiz you on history, astronomy, or mathematics while enjoying your company. Though admittedly, that would put an entirely new spin on things."

Elladan cuffed him playfully upside the head, and Elrohir glared at him, trying not to chuckle. "You know what I mean." 

"No, not really, but I'm getting used to that."

They had entered the barracks, entered the antechamber off set from the main armory where the practice weapons were stored. Elladan shut the door behind them, removed the sheathed wooden blades, and hung them in a row of others just like them.

"Did you ever have a crush on him? Erestor, I mean, since you two used to be close."

Elrohir noted the past tense, but did not comment on it. "Maybe."

"Oh no, I admitted my crush on Glorfindel. Did you or didn't you?"

"It's only natural for a young elf to have a crush on a trusted, beautiful figure of authority."

Now Elladan rolled his eyes. "That doesn't answer the question. You've been around him too long; you're getting quite slippery."

Elrohir glared. "Alright, yes, I did. This wasn't quite what I'd had in mind, though." He turned his gaze to a row of wooden practice knives. "Was it what you'd had in mind?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Elladan shrugged. "This wasn't all at once, you know."

"Tell me about it." His expression was curious, and Elladan seated himself beside his brother and slipped an arm about his waist. Elrohir shied from the touch, unused to this familiarity outside of his chambers, Elladan's or Erestor's. He glanced sharply at the closed door, considered. Settled against his brother's body.

"At first I didn't know what was happening." Elladan spoke slowly. "I knew he was watching me, and I didn't understand it. It made me nervous. Before, if Erestor was paying particular attention to me that usually meant that I'd muddled something or was still trying to catch up to something you'd already figured out. It was driving me crazy. So I went to see him."

"Just like that?" Elrohir shifted to look at his brother's profile. Elladan smiled somewhat ruefully.

"No, not ‘just like that.' It was nerve wracking. And frightening." He gave his brother a sideways glance. "Yes, I know you don't think I'm ever frightened. But I was. I finally spoke to him because I couldn't take it anymore. I had to know what he was thinking, why he was watching me that way."

"And then?"

"And then he asked me if I'd like to go out riding." Elladan's face reflected the confused emotions of the past. "I agreed to; I think that had more to do with being caught completely off balance than anything else. Things progressed from there."

"Hmmm." Elrohir leaned his head against his brother's shoulder. "What was it, though? Why was he interested? Did he ever say?"

"Yes and no. He says I'm so different from him. I think that's what he likes."

Elrohir suddenly felt cold. "And am I the same as he, then?"

"No." Elladan gave him a gentle squeeze. "Ever and always you will be closer to me than to anyone else."

Elrohir said nothing, thinking of the many connotations of that. Close by blood, close in Elladan's embrace, close in likeness and thought. Close but not the same, and still too different to have immediately struck the shrewd advisor as a matched pair, twins or no. He had never doubted his identity, individual and entwined with Elladan's, until now.

"Perhaps I should be the one to approach Glorfindel. He and I are very different."

"But I want you here by me."

"I am here." He said, and won the battle against dissenting emotion, thought, conscience. For the time.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan thinks about how things began between him and Erestor. More sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had almost completely forgotten how much this story (?) was an excuse to write skeevy sex. So, on that note, here's more of it. Also, this story is still potentially triggering for mental, emotional, or sexual abuse survivors, and I am 100% okay with any of you leaving for the sake of your health.

He knew his words had not come close to describing how it had been for him in those early days of his relationship with Erestor. He had told Elrohir that he'd been afraid, but fear was not quite the right word, and it certainly had not been as easy as he had made it sound. _It made me nervous… I went to see him._ As if it were only natural to confront the dragon in its lair, or to dance elegantly to the discordant jangle of one's own nerves.

He'd gone riding with Erestor, and things had progressed from there. That was what he'd told Elrohir, and again, that barely served as any explanation at all. He could not explain to his brother how a picnic could seem surreal even though nothing had been out of place, and how young and uncertain he had felt sitting across from Erestor by the river caverns. He had barely been able to follow the conversation, though he had finally realized that the looks he was receiving over the picnic basket were admiring, and had blushed in awkward pleasure when Erestor had complimented him on his hair. He had agreed to go on another outing when Erestor had asked, and had felt light headed and delirious at his own recklessness.

Things had certainly progressed, and alarmingly quickly now that he looked back on it. How many days and nights had passed between that day at the river, and the night in Erestor's bed chamber? Not many -- Elladan knew that much. They had not made love on that night, though Elladan would have if Erestor had wanted it. He remembered it with a clarity that his memory of that first picnic lunch lacked -- remembered how Erestor's body had felt locked between his thighs. How it felt to be on his lap that way, to rock against him, to feel the heat of Erestor's desire answering his own through layers of constricting clothing. Elladan had wanted to cast that clothing aside, but Erestor had not; Erestor had divested him of his shirt and had teased him to the edge of despairing ecstasy, but there had been no completion.

He remembered hands on his face, neck, ears, chest, belly, thighs. Hands sliding over his torso, making him squirm in wanton desire. Fingers and lips dancing over his nipples, and then fingers pinching, hard. Too hard, for a brief moment, but by then Elladan had been lost. When Erestor had whispered in his ear, _Let me_ he had given his consent.

And so it had gone, back and forth, lips replaced by teeth, stroking fingers switching to hard pinches and finger nails. Erestor's mouth had soothed the hurt to liquid bliss, making him feel as if he would climax from no further contact than that, and then he would make him writhe in exquisitely centralized pain. He remembered that clearly, too – how it felt to lock his hands on Erestor's shoulders and clench his thighs around Erestor's waist, gritting his teeth against the small whimpers that wanted to pass his lips. By the end he had been flinching at any touch on his pectoral muscles, want and dread mixing in a delicious stew, wanting both the electric flares of pleasure and, perversely, the sharp agony of sensitized, abused flesh.

It had been a small thing, a foretaste of things to come. Nights had passed in a silken blur after that, in a carnivale of dark pleasures he had never dreamt of, had never even imagined. There was always Erestor's voice asking him _let me_ and always his consenting until eventually Erestor quit asking him because it was understood that he would give Erestor what ever he wanted. They had remained on that exhilarating plateau for yet a while before Erestor had given him a way to say "no" to replace the loss of his privilege to say "yes."

Elladan knew Erestor loved him, and it infuriated him that Elrohir refused to see that. Why else that rarely spoken word between them, that small modicum of control that rendered the weight of chains, pain of clamps, and humiliation of obedience superfluous? Elrohir refused to see beyond the obvious, insisting to himself that love could not exist side by side with the dark imaginings made real in Erestor's bed chamber. The hypocrisy of it, the conceit that lay behind that thinking, was frustrating. Elrohir joined them willingly enough, yet he did not doubt Elladan's love, and would have been appalled if Elladan had accused him of uncaringness. Did he think that he was more capable than they of separating night from day, or the only one of them with sufficient depth of character to support multiple facets?

He wondered if it would surprise Elrohir to know that he knew what they did all day long in their office -- that he knew as much about the business of Imladris as either of them. Stepping into Elrohir's place would be easy when the time came. Erestor talked to him and told him everything while they lay together in his wide, libertine's bed, sometimes while holding him, sometimes while smoothing soothing balm over injured skin. He told Erestor everything, also. They were very different, but their differences made them complimentary to one another, their separate needs drawing them together into the wholeness of fulfillment.

Erestor was his compliment; Elrohir was his other half. It was impossible for three halves to make a single whole, but the logic of mathematics did not apply to divisions of the heart. He loved Elrohir, his other half, his shadow and conscience, and Erestor had seen that and manipulated events to make it possible for this strange realignment of pieces to take place. Of course, Erestor loved him. How else could he do such a thing as this?

*****

Erestor frowned over the letter that was the cause of his presence in the office rather than in some other, more pleasant place on this day of rest. Elladan sat on the corner of his desk, quietly watching him, head tilted inquisitively. He had come here after leaving the barracks since Elrohir had promised to take Arwen to the market later in the afternoon, and Elladan had no interest in comparing ribbons and trinkets with his little sister.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Your grandmother is organizing yet another week of awkward pretenses at sociability in an effort to strengthen the nearly non existent ties between the elven nations."

"Isn't that overstating things a bit?"

"Well, a bit." Erestor glanced up at Elladan, grimaced. "I hate these things."

"I should think you'd be quite at home in the midst of political and personal tensions."

Erestor's grimace faded, turning into an honest smile. "You know me too well, melme. The timing is abominable, though."

"This will be soon, then?"

"Toward the end of next month. Enough time for everyone to send messages back to Lady Galadriel explaining why they can't attend, and for her to open the invitation sufficiently so that polite refusal will become impossible."

"Will Elrohir and I be going?"

"No. Elrohir will be taking over my work while this is going on, and, forgive me Elladan, but I imagine that Glorfindel will be taking more experienced fighters for your father's entourage."

Elladan looked down at his hands. Erestor rose and circled the desk.

"You are adorable when you pout, pen-neth."

"I'll miss you." He said, ignoring the teasing compliment.

"I will miss you, too." Erestor pressed his finger tip under Elladan's chin and lifted his head so that their eyes met. "But I am not entirely unhappy that you'll have time alone with your brother."

"I can be alone with him whenever I please."

"That's not what I meant."

Elladan's eyes cut to the right, apparently caught by the view outside the window. Erestor hissed a wordless warning, and Elladan's gaze flickered back to meet his lover's.

"Do you want him, pet?"

Elladan licked his lips, parted them, and closed them again.

"Tell me, Elladan. Tell me the truth, whatever the truth is."

"Yes." He whispered, eyes large and lost, and Erestor pulled him close, and kissed him. "I love you, Erestor." He said when their lips parted.

"I know, and I love you, too. It is well between us, Elladan." He said reassuringly, and rubbed his cheek against Elladan's silken hair when the young elf collapsed against him in relief. He slid his hand to the small of Elladan's back and pulled him to the desk's edge.

"Do you imagine him touching you this way, Elladan?" He whispered in Elladan's ear as he ran his hands along the young elf's thighs. His fingers followed the inseam of his lover's leggings, touched the growing bulge at his body's center. Elladan moaned softly, and Erestor smiled against his temple. "Do you want him to touch you like this?"

"Yes…" The word was barely heard, more vocalized breathing than speech. Erestor cupped the heat of Elladan's arousal in his hand, gently rubbed.

"Has he ever touched you this way? Anything beyond kisses and embracing?"

"No." Elladan gasped, and swallowed hard as his leggings were unlaced. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and shivered expectantly as his body was bared from waist to ankles. Erestor turned him to face the desk, and Elladan bowed over it unhesitatingly at Erestor's gentle push.

"But this is what you really want." Erestor traced a finger along the cleft of Elladan's buttocks. "You want him to take you."

"Yes…" Elladan gasped as Erestor dropped to his knees behind him. He trembled as strong hands parted him, sucked in a sharp breath at the tickle of warm breath against sensitive, secret flesh.

"What do you think it would take to persuade him to do this for you? Do you think he'd do it if you begged?"

"Please, Erestor, please take me." Elladan moaned, thrusting backward until Erestor swatted him on the hip. "I want you in me, please…"

"Mmmm," Erestor licked beneath the bottom swell of Elladan's buttocks. "Not me. Imagine that it is he who is here with you now. I want to hear you beg him, want to hear his name on your lips when you reach fulfillment."

"Elrohir." He whispered, and was rewarded by warm wetness gliding upward, touching the tight ring of muscle guarding his opening. He parted his legs wider, crying out in frustration when his efforts were stymied by the leggings about his ankles. "Oh, please, Elrohir, do not stop…"

His cries became incoherent as Erestor licked him, only Elrohir's name distinct as Erestor's tongue danced in delicate circles, then pressed inward. Elladan's hands knotted on the desk top, and he imagined that it was Elrohir holding his hips, stabilizing him, stabbing into him with hot wetness that was near to driving him mad. He ground his cock against the desk top, his desperate pleas trailing away into a sensual repetition of his brother's name.

Erestor rose to his feet and pushed a finger into Elladan's writhing body, pressing his other hand upon Elladan's back in a silent command of stillness. Elladan sobbed in frustrated pleasure and rubbed his cheek against the smooth wood. He remained motionless, and Erestor's finger remained motionless within him.

"What do you want him to do, Elladan?" Erestor asked silkily, and Elladan ground his teeth, raised his head.

"Take me, Elrohir, move, please move!"

Slow friction, fingers sliding in and out, brushing the hidden pleasure spot within him in a tortuously lazy rhythm.

"More, Elrohir, dammit, I want you…"

And then there was more; as swiftly as Erestor's finger left him it was replaced. Elladan cried out at the sudden penetration, the way prepared by nothing more than saliva. He gritted his teeth and moaned at the exquisite dance of nerves, and fell over the edge of pain before rising again on an ephemeral cloud of pleasure. Erestor took him hard and fast, sliding over his pleasure point with a merciless insistence that left Elladan gasping and clawing frantically at the desk top. Elladan panted Elrohir's name, and would have screamed it when he reached his climax if it had not been for Erestor's hand reaching to clamp over his mouth.

Afterwards, he hung over the desk, sated, while Erestor rode out his desire, and when it was finished, Erestor pulled him into his arms. Elladan lolled backward trustingly, resting his head against Erestor's shoulder. He licked clean the offered fingers after Erestor had skated them through the cooling essence on his belly, knelt, and bowed his head to the desk top when Erestor gently lowered him to the floor. The familiar salt flavor filled his mouth, and he allowed some of the fluid to smear across his lips before raising his head.

"Very convincing, lirimaer." He ran his fingers through Elladan's soft, tousled hair, and dropped to kneel in front of his lover. Their lips met, and Erestor delicately licked Elladan's wet lips. "I promise that you will have what you want."

"Thank you, Erestor."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a story in here somewhere. I know it.

Elladan leaned back against the pillows and watched his brother undress through half hooded eyes. He had not been ordered to help, and this night he was nude as well. Elrohir did not know to mistrust abrupt and unannounced changes in routine, but Elladan did. This time, however, Elladan was not as nervous as he normally would have been. That Erestor had something planned was without a doubt, that he would be on the receiving end of it was without question, that Elrohir was going to be the focal point was beyond certainty. He smiled, thinking of the whipping Erestor had given him and the resultant ghastly white expression on his brother's face.

The cold expression of intellectual interest did not set so well on Elrohir's lovely features when he stood nude in the middle of the woven rug, clearly unsure as to what to do or where to go. Elladan might have told him, could have said that when in doubt one should stand gracefully, expectant in repose, soft, and available. He said nothing, though; obedient to the first rule of silence. Erestor had made him a promise, and that meant that the time for schooling was past. He waited to see how badly his brother would acquit himself.

"Stand up straight, Elrohir, shoulders back." Erestor said, and his tone was flat, utterly lacking in expression. His brother glared, but did as he was told. Of course he had not been slouching, but once again Elladan could have explained this to him. It was not proper posture that was desired, but an exaggeration of it – back thrust shoulders, parted legs, forward angled hips.

Erestor insinuated a hand between Elrohir's thighs, and Elladan smirked. The touch alone would have told him that Erestor wanted his legs farther apart, but it was not sufficient for Elrohir; Erestor had to practically shove him to get the message across. His response was somewhat quicker when the chief advisor slapped his buttocks, but not by much. Elladan felt a perverse sense of pride. For the first time in their lives, he knew he was more pleasing to Erestor than his brother was.

The chief advisor circled his brother, close enough for silk robes to brush bare skin, and yes, that maddening, condescendingly contemptuous expression had definitely slipped from Elrohir's face. Elladan's cock twitched as he watched, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to touch himself. For weeks he had been Erestor's model; he'd been beaten, taken, made to kneel, beg and crawl for Elrohir's edification. It had been extremely taxing, and he had done very well, earning Erestor's admiration and pride over and over again. It was good to be the one reclining and watching as Elrohir trembled and wondered what would happen next. It was good to see Elrohir's mask of distant amusement gone. 

Erestor came to a halt behind Elrohir and began lifting and pinning his hair up from his neck. Elladan sighed. He knew well enough what that meant, also.

"I told you to do something last night." Erestor said. "You refused."

"You didn't!" Elrohir flinched, but caught himself before he started to turn. "You asked…"

"Have you learned nothing?"

"You said we have a choice."

"You do. You can stop this at any time, and you know how. But you didn't. You simply… refused." He settled leather gloved hands on Elrohir's bare shoulders and squeezed. "There are consequences for such actions, Elrohir. Approach the foot of the bed, and extend your arms to your sides."

Elrohir inhaled deeply, then complied. He could not see what Erestor was doing in the wardrobe behind him, but Elladan saw the deceptively slender chains that could be linked to the ringbolts set in the high, tapered bed posts, and he watched with hungry avidity.

Elrohir flinched at the sight of them and drew his wrists back to his sides when Erestor held out the cuffs.

"No." He shook his head, eyes large. Erestor smiled.

"Very well, then. Elladan, come here."

Elladan rose from the bed and joined his brother at the foot without hesitation. Pride welled in his heart as Erestor turned his dark gaze to him and gestured for him to hold out his wrists. The metal was sensually cold, and the sound of the lock clicking home inexplicably arousing.

"What are you doing?" Elrohir asked, and there was controlled panic in his voice. Confusion.

"I am punishing Elladan in your place since you refuse yet again. If you do not want to bear the consequences of your actions, then from now on Elladan will pay for both his and your transgressions."

"No!" Elrohir ran a shaking hand through his hair. Erestor's eyes flicked over him impatiently. "No, don't. I… I'll…"

"You'll what?" Erestor sounded vaguely curious.

"I'll leave."

"Then go." Erestor returned his attention to the length of chain, reached to lock one to the post. "You're not required to watch. Go, and don't return, if that's what you want to do."

"I'm sorry. I'll do what you wanted me to."

Elladan could not see his brother, but the desperation in Elrohir's voice was unmistakable. He did not need to meet Elrohir's eyes to know that he would see fright, confusion, and shame in their depths, along with the desire to rescue his poor elder brother who did not require rescuing. He inhaled deeply and tugged experimentally at the chain. He knew it would hold, but it was not the chain that was meant to break. Elrohir made a sound that was not quite a whimper at the rattle of metal links against wooden post.

"That was yesterday, Elrohir. That is not what I want you to do today, not what I asked of you."

"Alright! Alright, dammit, take those things off of him. I'll do what you want."

"Tell me." Erestor wrapped an arm around Elladan's waist and traced his gloved fingers over his abdomen. Elladan shivered and leaned into Erestor's embrace. "Tell me what you want, Elrohir."

"I want you to unchain him." His voice was a whisper. Erestor hissed in impatient annoyance.

"I'm done playing with you, Elrohir. You will either cooperate or you will leave; those are the only two options you have left. I want to hear from your own lips what you want, or we will proceed without you."

Elladan held his breath and waited to see if his normally quick witted brother would be able to cut through the confusion and understand what Erestor wanted to hear. At last Elrohir took a shaking breath, spoke.

"I want you to unchain him, I want to be in his place."

Not perfect, but good enough for the moment. Again, Elladan heard the click of locks, and the cuffs slipped from his wrists. Erestor turned him, kissed his cheek, and gestured him back toward the bed. Wordlessly he climbed back up to watch from the comfort of pillows and counterpane.

"Because you are the one who denied and contradicted me, not he." Erestor said gently, and reached to touch Elrohir's face. He waited expectantly. Elrohir glanced at him through eyes filled with angry, shamed tears and slowly repeated his words back.

"Because I denied and contradicted you."

"Yes."

Elrohir looked very different chained between the bedposts, utterly lacking his usual air of control. He looked lost and frightened, and Elladan could not help but wonder if he had looked the same way the first time Erestor had done this to him. He had seen himself whipped and taken since; Erestor possessed a full length mirror which he put to good use, but not that first time. The first time had been an experience in isolation that would never be paralleled. It had not driven him outside of himself, but had kept him locked within his flesh, the shock of systematically applied stripes preventing any distancing, any separation of self, any thought. Elladan looked at Elrohir, studied the white face and too large eyes, and wondered if he could have felt the same emotions that must now be coursing through Elrohir. He doubted it. He had not fought as Elrohir was fighting, and he had been alone. He wondered if his presence made this easier or harder for his brother.

Erestor produced a long metal bar fitted with cuffs at both ends. Elrohir's ankles were enclosed in them, the bar preventing him from moving his legs together. Elladan rarely wore this other than for Erestor's amusement. Again he felt that upsurge of pride. He didn't need to wear it; there was no question that he would remain still, or remain on his feet. Elrohir closed his eyes briefly and glanced down at his captured feet, looked swiftly away when confronted with the unconcealable evidence of his arousal.

Erestor crooked a finger at him from behind Elrohir's shoulder, and Elladan crawled forward on the bed, smiling up at his brother. He knew what Erestor wanted -- knew the point he was making. Elladan felt a rush of heat as he posed at the foot of the bed, perched between his brother's spread legs, kissing the insides of his thighs. Until he'd met Erestor, Elrohir had been the only one with whom he'd felt such a sense of synergy that was almost a low grade form of telepathy. So few words between them, but so much understood. He kissed and licked, put on a show though he knew that Elrohir was not looking down and that Erestor could not see. Being watched was not the point; it was a lesson relearned from childhood, that the requirement to do well was not contingent upon an audience, that anything worth doing was worth doing properly.

Elrohir gasped and moaned as Elladan's lips moved over his flesh. There was enough slack in the chains holding his arms for him to sway, but his feet were held firmly apart. There was barely enough room for Elladan to fit himself between the edge of the bed and Elrohir's spread body, and no room for movement with his hands locked on Elrohir's hips and his tongue now lapping at the purpling head of Elrohir's erection. Elrohir flung his head back, and cried out in rapture and denial; Elladan opened his lips and took his brother's cock into the warmth of his mouth and sucked with eager intensity.

Elrohir had to have known what was coming, but he was nevertheless caught unawares by the first lash striking his back. The reaction was instantaneous. Elladan felt every muscle tighten as Elrohir jerked forward and rose onto his toes. He guessed that Erestor would not be using the whip or the flail, but probably a narrow leather belt or strap -- something that would leave welts but not break skin.

Elrohir did not cry out, but Elladan was not expecting him to, not yet anyway. A pained intake of breath and a harsh gasp was all the response given, and then another as the strap found its mark once more. Elladan swallowed him entire when he rocked forward, tightened his grip on Elrohir's now sweating hips.

Erestor worked in a steady rhythm. Elladan caught on to it quickly and timed his actions with each strike, each forward motion of Elrohir's body. Under his ministrations Elrohir's desire did not abate in spite of the ferocity of the whipping. Gasps were replaced by moans, and moans were replaced by sobs. Elladan could sympathize. He knew the oil/water mixture of pain and pleasure, of aching shoulders and shoulder blades, of strained muscles, and of climax dancing a hairsbreadth beyond reach. He swirled his tongue around the head of Elrohir's engorged member, and relaxed a moment later when the belt drove Elrohir's to the back of his throat and forced another cry of mingled pain and pleasure past Elrohir's lips.

The belt flicked feather lightly across his knuckles, and he dropped his grip lower to Elrohir's knees. Elrohir hung from the chains, hips twitching, moaning steadily as he enjoyed his brief reprieve. Then the blows commenced to fall once more, now dancing from the small of his back to just above Elladan's hands. The position was awkward for both of them. Elrohir hung from his wrists, knees now bent forward far enough to touch the mattress, with only the balls of his feet on the floor and Elladan's grasp stabilizing him. Elladan's head was arched back, and he was maintaining his position between his brother's legs only by his grip on the back of Elrohir's knees.

He gasped and almost choked, broke the violent rhythm they had set when he felt leather kiss the side of his own knee. Elrohir whimpered in protest when his hands clenched and pulled, wobbling him forward until his full weight hung from the chains. Elladan did not hear the words of Erestor's sharp reprimand, but he understood them nevertheless. He released his hold, pressed his palms flat onto the mattress behind him, and spread his legs between Elrohir's spread legs. The belt danced in lightning flickers, moving from the insides of his thighs to the back of Elrohir's in a steady, ceaseless circle.

Whether it was due to his increase in effort or Erestor's decrease in speed, Elladan could feel that Elrohir was wavering on the edge of release. His own erection throbbed in unrelieved cycles of desire; he could hear his own whimpers of need muffled by Elrohir's flesh as the belt danced and the breeze of its passing teased his sensitive, rigid organ. He moaned and listened to Elrohir's ambiguous cries as he swallowed, leaning to follow the slight movements of his brother's body rather than waiting for the lash to propel him forward. Then there were no more blows landing upon his tender flesh; instead there was only a near constant sound of impact, more forceful and rapid than before, keeping Elrohir arced forward.

It didn't matter. He took Elrohir's cock all the way to its base and let the reverberations of his moans tease his brother over the edge. He swallowed repeatedly as Elrohir climaxed, adding pleasure to pleasure, and listening to the strident cries that the pain of the lash had not been able to evoke.

The silence was broken only by Elrohir's sobs and ragged breathing, and then by the click of locks being opened. He fell forward, and Elladan caught him. He scooted back, bringing Elrohir with him. Elrohir's face was hot against his neck and shoulder, and wet with sweat and tears. Loose tendrils of hair clung to his brow and cheeks. His sobs continued as Elladan murmured to him soothingly, stroking his damp hair and allowing himself to be clung to.

Elrohir's body stiffened as Erestor prepared him, his oiled fingers worked swiftly and efficiently within him. The bar holding his ankles apart left him exposed, and there was no question of resistance, not even an instinctual tightening of muscles against invasion. Elladan knew when Erestor had found the tiny pleasure point within him; Elrohir trembled against him, whimpered, involuntarily tried to flinch away from the sensation even as his tears came faster.

Both of them were rocked forward by the force of Erestor's entry, and both of them slid back and forth to the rhythm he set. Elrohir raised his head, pressed his palms to the counterpane at Elladan's shoulders, quivered and moaned in a mingling of renewed desire and overstimulated pain. Beneath him, Elladan ground upward, desperately rubbing his erection against Elrohir and whimpering in shameless need. His thighs were locked at Elrohir's sides and his hands clenched on Elrohir's welted shoulders. Erestor lightly slapped his knee and pushed, and he sighed in expectant relief and gratitude as he began to push himself upward toward the headboard.

"Do for me what I did for you, Elrohir." He breathed into his brother's ear, and managed to hear his brother's choked gasp as his perspiration slick body slipped upward against Elrohir's. He felt a hot breath between his legs, then a tentative tongue touch against his rigid member. Elladan arched; Elrohir reflexively pulled back and was rewarded with a harsh slap across the top of his buttocks. Then there was heat and wetness, and the enveloping pleasure of his brother's mouth opening to accommodate his girth.

His hands settled on the sides of Elrohir's head, and he struggled not to tighten them into fists. It was agony not to take his mouth as Erestor was taking his body, but he could feel the hesitance of inexperience in Elrohir's movements. He tried to take Elladan's cock all the way back, gagged, and almost let it slide from his lips as he drew back. Elladan's hands shook as he gently stroked the dark hair and murmured soft reassurance.

Then Elrohir was moaning around his thickness, creating a vibration that was overriding inexperience. Elladan knew that Erestor must be touching him as he rode him to completion. He raised himself up on his elbows and watched through half hooded eyes as Elrohir supported himself with one shaking hand while holding the base of Elladan's cock in the other as he struggled to swallow him. He was several inches too tall to be able to lay flush to the mattress, and his awkward position allowed Erestor to slide a hand between him and the bed to stroke his cock while driving into him. The sight was more than Elladan could take. He exploded into his brother's mouth, hips jerking forward and head thrown back, his primal cry of release drowning Elrohir's muffled whimper.

Elrohir lapped him clean as he had seen Elladan do countless times for Erestor, and Elladan petted his hair idly, lovingly, feeling the delicious aftershocks of ecstasy. Then Elrohir was crying out, too, trembling violently between Elladan's legs as he spilled his over Erestor's hand and was driven forward against his brother's body as Erestor reached his climax in turn.

Time passed in a golden haze. Elladan knew it could not have been long before Erestor had unlocked the bar from Elrohir's ankles and helped him up onto the bed. Not long before Elrohir was nestled between them, still crying quietly while they carefully held and kissed him. It felt like forever, though; an eternity of lying still in the misty glow, feeling the delicious abrasion of hot skin against the welts on his thighs and feeling Elrohir's tremors, wetness of tears and saliva. He held Elrohir on top of himself once more when Erestor brought out the jar of salve, and showered him with tender kisses as the soothing ointment was massaged into Elrohir's back, buttocks and thighs.

Elladan was not hurt that badly, but he did not object when Erestor lifted Elrohir aside and administered the same treatment to his inner thighs. He purred, parting his legs farther and casting Erestor a hopeful look. The older elf shook his head and laughed softly at Elladan's teasing pout. When he climbed into the bed beside them he pulled Elrohir into his arms, and it was Elladan's turn to smile when Elrohir immediately folded himself into Erestor's embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like anyone who's made it this far to know that I've long since gotten over my reticence about using words like "cock," "dick," "cum," and "ass."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afterwards. Elrohir and then Erestor's introspection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'd like to point out that guys who operate like Erestor in the real world are not the good guys. This chapter contains no sex but is nonetheless skeevy as all hell. Content potentially triggering, and so on and so forth.

His tears had subsided, and the shaking of his frame had tapered to the occasional slight shiver. He clung to Erestor as if the advisor were an anchor or a beacon -- something to hold him in place and give him a point of reference at the same time. His inner stars had shifted; his soul was adrift. Elladan was an outward vision of that untethering. Erestor was unknown, relatively speaking, and therefore safe.

"Are you alright, Elrohir?" Erestor asked with genuine concern, and he nodded against the older elf's broad chest. "Little one, lirimaer, sweet heart, I never meant to truly hurt you. If this is too much it can be over. I would never hold that against you, little love."

Soft words, kind and gentle. Elrohir melted, wrapping his arms tightly around Erestor's body. It felt so good to be this warm, this close. The endorphin rush was fading, and he was beginning to feel the ache in his shoulders, back, wrists, thighs, legs and ankles. From neck to knee his skin felt raw and painful in spite of the balm.

"Elrohir?" His brother's voice, sharp with concern. Elrohir bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"Hurts." He finally managed to say. Erestor kissed the top of his head and stroked his arm.

"I know, sweetheart." He crooned into Elrohir's hair. "It will get better, love, give it time."

He considered that and swallowed hard. The pain in and of itself was not so bad; the pain he could deal with. He'd known that Erestor meant to beat him, and he'd suffered himself to be chained like an animal because he could not countenance walking away and leaving Elladan to be beaten in his stead. He had thought he would weather it as any other sort of punishment, though more personal and humiliating than anything that had ever been meted out under his father's roof in his memory. He'd seen the marks on Elladan's back; he'd seen his brother whipped. It couldn't be any worse than the accidental injuries he incurred during weapon's training, he'd thought, but then it had been different. Very different. He'd been required to ask for it, and he'd been forced to find pleasure in it. Erestor had used him while he was immobilized and too dazed and hurting to fight, and he had been more or less forced to bring his brother to orgasm.

No, not forced. His brow furrowed and his lower lip quivered. He had told Elladan that he would not refuse him again. If that had been force, then he was a liar. He had never lied to his brother, and he never intended to. And there was the safe word, also. He knew Erestor would listen to that word, and he trusted it as Elladan did. So, he had taken Elladan's cock in his mouth for some other reason, and not because Elladan's cock had been pressed to his lips and Elladan's hands pressed to the sides of his head, and not because of the motivating slap across fresh welts that Erestor had delivered.

"Elrohir!" Elladan's voice again, concern increasing to alarm. Erestor rocked him and slipped a hand under his chin to tilt his face up. Worry shown clearly in his dark eyes. Elrohir met his gaze easily; there was no judgment in that dark gaze, and none of Erestor's half contemptuous amusement. Tears stung his eyes again, this time of gratitude.

"I didn't know." He said softly, and Erestor nodded.

"No, you didn't." He said soothingly. "Talk to me, Elrohir, tell me what was hardest for you."

His eyes were wide and guileless as he looked at Erestor; the first tear slipped down his cheek silently, and he did not wipe it away. "I liked it."

"The whipping?"

"No… Yes… What Elladan was doing to me." He shifted uncomfortably. "Both together."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, love. That is the point, pen-rhovan, to be unable to separate one from the other. You did well."

"You looked beautiful," Elladan said, and Elrohir cast him a quick, sideways glance. Elladan lay on his side, head propped on his hand, watching him with eyes softened by concerned tenderness. "Was I like that, Erestor?"

Erestor smiled. "You were and are beautiful, Elladan, never a disappointment to me." He stroked Elrohir's cheek. "You have never disappointed me, either."

He looked askance at the dark haired elf, and Erestor chuckled.

"If I did not find you desirable, I would not be taking this time with you, Elrohir. Have no fear, little one."

No fear. It was an odd reassurance when Elrohir felt there was plenty to fear. In another way, though, he thought he could understand. Here was a sort of sensual fatalism that denied fear and that made fear meaningless. He remembered what his brother had said to him, _if I have no choices, then I have no guilt._ No guilt, and no fear.

It contradicted his denial of force, but it also made sense. If a choice had been made, then he had made it weeks ago, and had merely confirmed that choice when he'd allowed Erestor to lock his wrists within the dangling mithril cuffs. He was not a hero, or the voice of sanity, and he was not a check rein on anyone's behavior. Elrohir did not want to look at the truth that lay beneath those things that he had been telling himself, but he supposed that soon he would have to. The only defense he had were the words he'd spoken to Erestor: _I didn't know._ He knew what his father would say to that, had heard it time and time again. _Ignorance is not a defense._

*****

The twin elves slept, Elrohir half on top of Erestor and Elladan close at Elrohir's side. Elrohir had not spoken much. Erestor hadn't expected that he would. Given time to adjust he would speak more freely to Elladan, and then Elladan would speak to him. It would be awkward for a bit, but he was confident that his former student would rise above his confusion.

Elrohir felt right in his arms, warm and pliant in a way he had not been previously. Elrohir had always stiffened at gentle contact, pulling away until he could will himself to relaxation. He hadn't wanted to deal with both sides of him; he'd wanted one or the other. Now he saw why those two sides needed to be, and understood that they were not constructed solely for the sake of keeping him unbalanced. Now, he understood why Elladan curled up close to him, kissed him, and whispered endearments in the soft darkness of night.

He missed having Elladan in his arms, but he knew that Elrohir needed him. He glanced over silken hair still bound up to keep the long tendrils from aggravating raw skin. Elladan lay nestled at Elrohir's side, not wanting to wrap his brother in an embrace while he was sore and hurting. By morning the worst of it would be past; he had not used a whip or flail on Elrohir. He would be sore and uncomfortable for a day or so, but this had been nothing like the decorative, skin slicing stripes that he occasionally covered Elladan's back with. Honestly, he didn't know if Elrohir would ever be able to bear up under such treatment, but he found that it didn't matter to him. It was not for their sameness that he desired the twins, not for his likeness to Elladan that he wanted Elrohir.

Erestor had been concerned for Elrohir in a way he hadn't been for Elladan. Elladan was all enthusiasm and exuberance; there had been no need to maneuver Elladan until he'd felt his back was to the wall. His tears afterwards had been simple reaction, and though he had offered no defense, Erestor knew that he might have said the same words that Elrohir had. In his case, however, _I didn't know_ would have been in reference to the extremity of feeling. Elrohir had not been speaking of that. He'd already told him that he hurt, and he was not one to repeat himself.

Elrohir… He kissed the top of the elf's head and smiled at the soft murmur that greeted his action. It had started because of Elladan, of course. All of it had started with Elladan, with the looks he cast his brother's way, unremarked by any save for the chief advisor of Imladris. Unremarked even by Elladan, Erestor believed. Elladan was not prone to intellectualization as Elrohir was; he would not have told himself pretty lies to cover the truth, but would have rather ignored it. He would have ignored it until it became a mystery even to him -- a blind spot in the middle of his love for his brother. Erestor had known that, and like any stalker closing in on his prey, it was from Elladan's blind spot that he'd struck.

He had tossed the idea around with his lover, who had called him a malicious meddler. Erestor didn't see it that way. Elladan in his arms was pure joy, and he wished he could have shared this with his former love, who had obstinately refused to have anything to do with this. _I will be here when you tire of them_ , was what he had said, and vanished on the night he'd made his first move on Elladan. Erestor missed him. He was not yet prepared to give up the pleasure of the twins, though, of his enthusiastic young lover and his lover's brother. Elrohir was not ready for that, and neither was Elladan. Elladan had only begun to find the love his heart had insidiously, secretly craved, and Elrohir was not yet ready to give to him fully.

And he did love them, not just the process of remaking them until they could see each other. He could not explain that to them or to himself. Elladan was his shining star to whom he would give anything, and he supposed that he himself had been guilty of intellectualization at the outset. Meddling was the excuse to have Elladan, not the reason. Perhaps the real reason was why his lover had left him, and if so he had to admit that his lover had been justified.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Angst and sex, in that order, and fairly well delineated for a change.

When he awoke it was Elladan who was holding him. Erestor was gone. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a note on the bedside table, but could not summon up sufficient curiosity to reach for it. It was uncharacteristic of Erestor to bother leaving them any sort of explanation for his behavior, but it might not be an explanation. Perhaps it was more orders; maybe it was instructions for Elladan to change the sheets. He neither knew nor cared.

Elladan was awake. This was not the first morning that he'd regained focus cradled close to his brother, but it was the first morning on which he did not immediately extricate himself. It felt good to be held. Elrohir did not feel so piteously dazed as he had on the previous night, but neither did he want to be left alone. He snuggled against Elladan, and refused to think about anything at all.

"Good morning, little brother." Elladan ruffled his hair. "How are you?"

"Guess."

"Sore and wanting to be close?" Elladan kissed his forehead gently. Elrohir felt a brief flash of aimless rage. It flared brightly for a moment, and then mercifully faded. He sighed.

"Aye. I guess you would know."

"Erestor's made excuses for us to father. We'll stay here today."

"Excuses? Stay?" Elrohir glanced up, ignoring the pressure of Elladan's erection against his hip. Ignoring things, he reflected, was something he was becoming good at.

"Well, father would have been expecting to see us at breakfast. We forgot to mention last night that we were going to ride out to the border today and wouldn't be back until late tomorrow. Since we haven't had much time together, lately."

"What about Glorfindel tomorrow? And our horses? I hadn't planned on spending my entire weekend in Erestor's bed chamber!"

"Erestor will take care of Glorfindel, and I'm sure our horses are already out of sight. As for the other, we thought you could use the rest."

Elrohir turned his head and glared up at the ceiling. He was trapped. There was no threat of chains and beatings, but once again, if he turned his back on them it would be at Elladan's expense. And Erestor's also, this time. He thought about that and frowned. The lie Erestor had told involved all of them. He had put himself at equal risk and hinged their fate on Elrohir's choice.

"Erestor ran a bath for you. The water should still be warm."

He didn't want to move from the comfort of Elladan's arms, but he did so nevertheless. Every muscle in his body ached, and the promise of warm water was an irresistible lure. Elladan helped him out of bed and half supported him for a moment while he regained his bearings. Taking a deep breath, he shrugged off Elladan's arm and stepped shakily toward the private bath.

"It always amazes me what Erestor can do with a leather belt."

"Is that what it was?" Elrohir's voice was strained.

"I'm guessing so, by the marks." He touched Elrohir's back lightly. The younger twin winced and glared back at his brother. "One of the narrow ones. The wide belts don't hurt so much, or mark quite so well."

Elrohir made no response. He let his brother help him down into the inset bath and settled on the ledge. The heat of the water was sheer bliss. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back. Elladan smiled.

"Thank you, Elrohir." He said as he settled in beside him. His brother cracked an eye open and cast him a bemused glance.

"For what?"

Incredibly, Elladan blushed. "I didn't think you would do it, for a moment. When we were on the bed together."

Elrohir returned his gaze to the ceiling. "I told you I would not refuse you again."

"But still." Elladan shifted in the water, reached for a decorative bowl containing wash cloths, soaps, shampoos and pomades. "Let me help you?"

Elrohir nodded. Elladan's hands were gentle as they carefully took down his hair. He did not pull or snag the tousled tresses, but ran the silver comb that had been on the tray through them with skillful ease. This, at least, was familiar. They had been taking care of each other's hair since they'd been elflings, and had often joked that their hair would become rat's nests if they were ever parted.

"I've never done that before." Elrohir said abruptly.

"I know." He cupped his hand at the nape of Elrohir's neck, indicated to him that he wanted him to scoot forward and lean back. His brother complied, allowing Elladan to soak his dark locks. "You did fine."

The look Elrohir cast him was meant to be sarcastic. It reflected nervousness instead, and a touch of insecurity. Elladan kissed him lightly on the cheek as he pulled Elrohir back upright.

"That was not the best of circumstances or positions to do that in." The movement of his fingers was soothing as they worked the shampoo into his hair, rubbed against his scalp. "Were you scared?"

"Aye." His eyes darted to the side, a muscle in his jaw twitched. "You make me feel like I'm on fire, drowning in flames and loving it."

"You make me feel that way, too. Just looking at you makes me feel that way."

"Have you considered masturbating in front of a mirror?" Elrohir asked caustically, and Elladan chuckled.

"Actually, yes."

"Conceited bastard."

"It's not your appearance that makes me feel that way. And I promise not to tell father you said that."

Elrohir gaped at him, and then laughed, surprising both of them. Elladan grinned as he soaped the wash cloth. Apparently he had meant it when he'd asked to help. Elrohir was still chuckling as he reached to take the cloth from him.

"I can wash my own face. And other parts."

"Let me? Please?"

It was easier to comply then to argue, and Elladan's gentle ministrations felt good. Relaxing. He had not been given a bath since distant childhood, and he found it oddly comforting. Elladan was careful as he ran the cloth over his back, and he made sure to hold him at the hip rather than wrapping his arm around Elrohir's waist when he pulled Elrohir up to his knees to soap his welted buttocks and thighs. Elrohir rested his face against his brother's shoulder and gave himself up to sensation as their soaped bodies slid together and the soft, nubbly cloth moved over sore, aching flesh.

They separated. Elrohir gazed at his brother through eyes dilated almost to blackness, and Elladan smiled as he settled lower in the water before him, lifted each of Elrohir's legs in turn as he continued to soap his fair skin.

"Would you? Again?" Elladan asked softly. His head was bowed to his task, the ends of his hair trailing in the water as he washed Elrohir's feet.

"Are you making a request?"

Elladan glanced up, met lazy, half closed eyes. "I wouldn't ask for anything I would not be willing to give in return."

"I know, Elladan." He scooted forward again and arched back. Elladan held his breath. "Rinse my hair for me. Then let's go back to bed."

*****

In Erestor's arms Elladan was all Erestor's, utterly focused on him, basking in whatever attentions Erestor chose to bestow upon him. Elrohir had felt fury at the way Elladan would ignore his fear and discomfort to please Erestor, but though he did not want to admit it, that fury was only a thin layer over simmering jealousy. Elladan was Erestor's, and he could touch and be touched by Elrohir, but only at Erestor's pleasure, only for Erestor's amusement. That was the line Elladan had drawn, finer and fainter than the one Elrohir had attempted to hold, but still there. It was Elladan's defense against conscience. That what pleased Erestor also pleased him was purely incidental.

In Erestor's absence there was less balletic motion and more awkward shyness. Elrohir had been quietly captivated by the artfulness of Elladan's movements with Erestor and the emphasis upon beauty of form and motion in all that he did. Now there was no performance, and there could be no performance when Elladan knew that Elrohir needed more than a show to watch; he needed intimacy instead of the breathless wonder of watching Elladan's posed body and languid acquiescence. Art and jealousy were forgotten as Elrohir became the focus, and careful touches replaced the sensual dance as they crossed that last shallow line.

This time it was easier to slide Elladan's rigid sex past his lips; he had more time for the wet dance of experimentation and familiarization. He had been in a daze of pain and ecstasy the first time, barely understanding his brother's soft command until he'd felt hard flesh against his lips. That had been fright and desire, humiliation and bliss all bound into one, and the urge to give back as well as he'd been given shot through with bright flares of denial. It hadn't mattered. He had not asked Erestor to stop in the one way that he could, and he'd struggled to lick, suck, and swallow while being taken roughly, with sweat stinging in fresh wounds and hands in his hair and on his hips, near to choking and inexplicably trying to give more than what his position and experience could allow.

Now he had time to lick teasingly, to explore the smooth skin around Elladan's slit, to flick his tongue around the mushroom cap head, and follow the ridge with his tongue. Elladan whimpered and cried out, calling Elrohir's name with his hands clenched in the sheets, but Elrohir still took his time, forearm across his brother's abdomen, holding him down and relatively still. Finally Elrohir took him between his lips, opening for the slide of thick, slick hardness over his tongue, and riding the rising swell of Elladan's hips as he took as much as he could and then tried for more.

He knew he had grazed him a few times on the previous night, and though Elladan had not seemed to mind, he was more careful this time. Nothing but soft, nothing but wet. He fought his gag reflex and won, relaxed his throat, and moaned softly around the heated flesh at the sound of Elladan's responsive cries. Inhale and exhale, suction, pirouette of tongue, and now Elladan's fingers were running roughly through his hair, snagging as they had not done while he had been combing it.

Elrohir lifted Elladan's thighs over his shoulders as he increased his efforts, and felt the tensing in leg muscles and buttocks as Elladan neared his release. For a brief moment their eyes met as he took Elladan all the way in, tried to swallow, failed, and tried again more successfully. Elladan's soft wails became stuttering cries, and he arched upward, Elrohir's name on his lips. Rigid heat convulsed and the back of Elrohir's throat filled with salty viscousness as Elladan gasped his name.

His body quivered with delicious spasms as Elrohir covered him, then covered his lips with his own. It seemed that Elladan sought his own flavor as he opened to him, not merely allowing the kiss but joining in it. At last they parted, and in the soft breeze of warm breath against his face, Elrohir heard his brother whisper.

"Have me, Elrohir."

He did not want to think, argue, or discuss. Not when Elladan lay beneath him, limp with pleasurable exhaustion, slick lips parted, hips pressing upwards in a slight but insistent rhythm. He fumbled for the drawer in which Erestor kept the oil and came up with the jar of balm instead.

"That will work."

Scent of herbs, more like to perfume than to medicine. Elladan's legs were parted still, splayed as he had left them when Elrohir had let them drop from his shoulders. This was new, too; Erestor had taken him many times, but had never given himself to Elrohir. Even so he moved surely, brushing his slick finger against Elladan's opening and pushing his thighs farther apart with his other hand. He moved with maddening care, his index finger penetrating the ring of muscle and sliding within as if he were the first to invade this intimate darkness. Elladan pulled his legs back and braced his knees high and wide as Elrohir worked a second finger into him. Elladan was incredibly hot, tight, and eager. His head was arched back on the pillow, eyes shut, and lips parted to grant escape to the soft mewling sounds he couldn't restrain. Elrohir sought the secret spot of desire within him, crooking his fingers and stroking carefully in and out. At last he found it, and he watched in pleased lustfulness as Elladan bucked against him, gritting his teeth against more strident cries.

"Take me, Elrohir, take me, take me, please…"

His words trailed off into incoherent pleas. Only Elrohir's name could be discerned in the wave of incoherent sound, and it was that which made Elrohir move though he'd meant to make this last longer. His own desire was full, hot, needing to be sated, and Elladan was ready, wanting, and needing. Elrohir took his cock in hand, placed it at the entrance of Elladan's body, and surged forward.

"Oh, Elladan…" He whispered shakily as he sheathed himself in a slow, fluid glide and began thrusting within him. Hot confines, slick tightness enclosing him, dance of muscle and welcoming upward push of hips. All thought was driven from his mind by the glove-like closeness, and the smoothness of interior muscle clamping and releasing. His hips and thighs worked in an increasing rhythm that Elladan easily met, his hands trailed over the pale skin of Elladan's chest and belly in a dance that was more frenetic than graceful. At last he locked a hand around his brother's member and stroked it in time with his movements within him.

He struggled to hold back, to wait for Elladan, but the sensation was too much, the building waves of pleasure too strong. He felt himself teetering at the edge of release, heard his own moans of incipient completion flowing nearly constantly. Then he was falling, ecstasy compounded upon ecstasy, and Elladan was falling, too. Muscles contracted about his length, milked him, drove him to new heights that he had never known existed. Hot seed spilled over his hand as he spent himself deep within his brother's body, and at last he fell forward atop Elladan.

"Love you so much, Elrohir." Elladan whispered against his neck, breath tickling his ear.

"Love you, too." He knew they should rise and clean themselves, but he did not want to move. He wanted to stay wrapped in Elladan's arms just as he'd wanted to stay there this morning. He reached to touch Elladan's face, then remembered sticky wetness coating his fingers.

Elladan caught his wrist and brought his fingers to his lips. Licked them slowly, sensually. Elrohir felt heat twisting within him as he watched and felt the lazy stir of arousal re awakening.

"I'm glad we'll be staying here all day." Elladan murmured around Elrohir's index finger, and Elrohir nodded, breathless.

"How long until Erestor comes back?"

"Several hours. Let's make the most of them." His smile was slow and wicked, and Elrohir nodded his agreement, leant to kiss his delectably curved lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered editing this chapter a little harder, then realized that would mean re-writing the damned thing, so I counted slowly backwards from ten and let it go.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend is over, and Elladan is away for a week. Elrohir and Erestor argue, and Elrohir calls things what they are with a little more vehemence than usual.

It felt strange to be dressed. He had spent the better part of two days nude, and the process of dressing had felt oddly obscene, like a strip tease in reverse. It had not helped that Erestor had watched, or that he'd been alone with him. Elladan had already been gone, off to make his excuses to Glorfindel and reap the consequences of their unannounced vacation. He had been allowed to sleep in a little later since Erestor was the only one whom he'd have to answer to this day, at least until evening when his father would undoubtedly have a talk with both him and his brother.

It occurred to him that he'd rarely seen Erestor completely nude. Erestor divested himself of as little clothing as necessary most of the time, and his touch was leather, silk, or velvet. Finger tips and pounding heat were what he knew of Erestor save for that one night, the one he didn't think about too carefully, this past weekend. That night he had lain against Erestor, felt flesh on flesh, and drifted into sleep with his arms locked around the chief advisor's body. It was confusing now, to want his embrace while also wanting to shove him violently away.

They walked the corridors together, and Erestor was the same here as in the bedchamber, robed silent menace and disconcerting tenderness. Elrohir had not had to deal with gentle, affectionate Erestor before, and he rather wished that he'd never had to. Erestor's cold distance and amusement, and even his controlled, artistic brutality were things Elrohir could understand. They were things that frightened him both for himself and his brother, he had to admit, but they were known quantities. It was a game, and one that Elrohir thought he could have played against the elder elf if that had been all there was to it. Erestor showing tenderness, feeling, perhaps even love… that was something entirely different. A new angle.

The office was an alien landscape though he had spent more hours within it than he could begin to count. Again it struck him that Erestor was the focal point -- the thing that was real while all else merely faded, emerged, and faded again around him. Erestor was constant in his unvarying attire of somber, decorous robes, official or otherwise. Even the black leather gloves were not a secret skin worn only for him and Elladan; they were Erestor's riding gloves, inconspicuously shocking, both public and intimately private.

"'Tis a shame we're starting in the middle of the day. There's so much I have to cover with you before going to dance attendance at another one of your grandmother's political fiasco tea parties."

Elrohir nodded dumbly. Erestor looked frustrated and somewhat harried as he swiftly sorted through the papers stacked on his desk. He spoke in the half distracted tone he'd used in the classroom when he was called away from his own pursuits to explain something he knew forwards and backwards. Though Elrohir had never been out of Imladris save for visits to Lothlorien in his life, he suddenly found himself fully understanding the meaning of "culture shock."

"First of all, these are matters which you should take to your father to handle." He glanced up at Elrohir and registered the slightly dazed expression on the young elf's face. "Are you alright, melme?"

"I'm fine." Elrohir answered brusquely. Erestor frowned.

"We do have a month, give or take a few days. There is no point in covering this today if you are not going to remember what I tell you."

Elrohir bridled. Erestor, of all people, should know that comprehension and retention were not a problem for him. He met the advisor's eyes squarely, disciplined himself to focus on the matters at hand.

"Continue."

"Very well, then." The smile Erestor gave him was genuine, as was the sparkle of admiration in his sloe eyes. Elrohir found that controlling his wandering thoughts was a simple matter compared to controlling his pleasure at receiving that look.

*****

Dinner had been a tense affair. Elrond had clearly been displeased with his sons, and only Elrohir had been present to bear the brunt of it. Glorfindel had inexplicably sent Elladan with the border patrol; he would be gone for the entirety of the week. Judging by the frigid air between the two elf lords, Elrond disagreed strenuously with Glorfindel's decision to allow the oldest twin what he would surely be thinking of as an adventure. Celebrian was unusually quiet; she had always been the more permissive of the two, and the one most likely to let small transgressions slide. Elrohir guessed that she had spoken up in their favor over the course of the weekend, and had been overruled. This did not bode well for the coming days, Elrohir knew. His father could be quick tempered, but his mother had a way of lying in wait. He wisely concealed his smile as he considered the possible outcomes of this parental disagreement.

He'd made his apologies in Elrond's study, listened to the ensuing lecture and threats of privileges temporarily denied with less trepidation that he had in the past. Intimate contact with Erestor had rendered such things as denial of privileges small and trifling. There was nothing quite like a sound whipping, Elrohir reflected, to make restriction to the house and immediate yard seem like a minor inconvenience. He had done his best to sound properly contrite, and his father had seemed satisfied when he'd allowed him to leave.

It would be Elladan's turn when he got back from patrol, and at least Elladan deserved the lecture and punishment. He felt a brief sense of satisfaction as he thought of that, but it quickly faded to morose resignation. Elladan had known what he was getting into, and would do anything for his wonderful Erestor. He'd cheerfully apologize, take his punishment, and then do it all again the very next week if Erestor asked it of him. And drag his twin along for the ride.

He flopped gracelessly onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. The room felt like someone else's, which shouldn't have seemed odd to him considering he'd spent virtually every night for the past month in Erestor's chambers. He visited this room to change the sheets that did not require changing, and to pick up clean clothes and drop off dirty in the laundry hamper. He wondered if it would feel strange, sleeping here alone, while Elladan was gone.

Erestor had said nothing to him after learning of Elladan's departure. Elrohir's face flushed in dull humiliation as he thought of the terms of endearment that had flowed so easily from the advisor's honeyed tongue, and the way he had glowed under that attention, clung to Erestor, and behaved with all the dignity of an affectionate puppy. Worse – like a kicked puppy cuddling hopefully against its fickle master.

The pain from the beating had been completely gone by morning. Elrohir was glad of that; it had not been nearly so awful as the whippings he'd seen Elladan receive, but he still had not wanted the reminder through out his day. He'd thought of that often when watching Elladan in the normal routine of things -- of how his brother must feel the abrasion of clothing over welts, cuts, broken skin. He'd wondered if Elladan reveled in that as if it his marks were to him like a lover's tokens. Elrohir might have felt something like that, flaring and fading as quickly as a shooting star. Now, outside of Erestor's chambers, he did not want to wear the advisor's tokens, or to feel a rush of affection toward the one who had left him alone.

He glanced up when the door opened, and a frown furrowed his brow. Even his father knocked before entering; only Elladan would walk in unannounced. The frown hardened into a glare as Erestor stepped into the room.

"Is there something you need?" He asked pointedly, not rising from the bed. Erestor shrugged eloquently.

"You. I was wondering what was keeping you."

Elrohir willed himself to ignore the traitorous beating of his heart. "I assumed my presence was not required in Elladan's absence. You said nothing."

"I did not think I needed to, melme."

"Don't call me that." He felt a sense of deja vu as the words passed his lips, but this time they were not in sight of his father's office, or in the safety of the garden gazebo. A small smile played about Erestor's lips.

"Why not? You did not mind yesterday. Or the night before."

He chose to ignore the latter comments, maintaining his temper and control. "It's what you call Elladan."

"And I cannot love you, too?"

"You do not." His face was brick red; he turned his gaze to the ceiling. Erestor crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside him.

"Not as I love Elladan, no. But must there be only one kind of love?"

"I am not interested in playing games. This… this is not politics or diplomacy." His expression was fierce when he met Erestor's eyes once more, and he sat upright, keenly aware of the defenselessness of his supine pose. "This is personal. What do you want? What is this about?" He hissed.

"I love your brother, and your brother loves you."

Elrohir closed his eyes and thought of a day spent in Elladan's forbidden embrace. "So, I am a gift to your lover." He said dully. Erestor sighed.

"I would do anything for Elladan, though I know you still doubt me. Anything at all. But I could not share my bed with one for whom I had no feelings, Elrohir."

"Share your bed!" Elrohir barked laughter. "Damn you, you manipulative, scheming…" His lips moved soundlessly as he searched for words, and he angrily swiped tears of frustration, betrayal, and humiliation from his eyes. Erestor reached for him, and he shoved him back.

"No!" He snickered. "Or ‘Thorn,' if you prefer."

"This is your room, Elrohir. Not mine."

"So glad that you make the distinction." His tears flowed faster, and he clenched his eyes shut. "Did you and Elladan decide this together? Did he tell you he wanted me, and you magnanimously complied? Has it all been smoke and mirrors since the night Elladan talked to me at the river?"

"No, Elrohir." Erestor said, reaching to touch Elrohir's sun kissed brown hair. "I only saw what Elladan would not say, and sought to give it to him."

"It." Elrohir said sardonically. "Do you think that maybe you've taken a bit too much upon yourself?"

"Sometimes." It was Erestor's turn to look away. "It's too late, now."

"No, it isn't. I can walk away."

"But will you?"

He was silent for a long moment, eyes riveted to his lap. Of course he would not. Not when the idea of spending this night alone made him want to begin crying all over again, and not when Elladan was the most important person in his life.

"How do you love me, then?"

"I don't know, little one. Can you explain how you love your brother?"

"More than I should." He cast Erestor a scathing glance. "Thanks to you."

"I did not create the feelings in your heart."

"No, but you could have left them alone." He stared down at his hands. "I trusted you, Erestor. You were my teacher, someone I looked up to. Someone whom I respected and believed would never hurt me. Someone I thought I could turn to if I ever needed someone. I trusted Elladan."

"I will always be here for you, Elrohir. As will Elladan." His voice was thick, husky, and Elrohir glanced up sharply. The advisor's dark eyes were luminescent with unshed tears, and Elrohir stared, amazed. Elrohir hesitantly touched his cheek.

"You would cry because of me?"

The advisor's jaw clenched. Tears or no, the look he cast upon Elrohir was filled with pride. "Perhaps the actions I have committed are… unethical. I may have underestimated you, thought you could be moved along easily without ever seeing beneath the surface. I've made errors. That does not mean that my feelings are not true, that I have ever been false in emotion or intentions toward either Elladan or you."

"You're trying to tell me I should trust you. In spite of this."

Erestor shrugged and refused to answer. "Will you come back with me?"

"No." Elrohir said softly. "But you can stay."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sex. Erestor realizes Elrohir has him figured out, and that he's not going to get any happily ever after.

His bed was narrower than Erestor's, and it made closeness a necessity rather than an option. There was no room to draw away when the older elf pulled him into his embrace, but Elrohir supposed that if he had not wanted that embrace he should not have told Erestor he could stay. Warmth and touch drove away thought whether it was the touch of flesh, silk, velvet or leather. He wanted sensation to replace sought stability; he wanted to close his eyes and fall away from the daytime world.

Their lips met, and Elrohir did close his eyes, waited for the darkness to set him free. Erestor remained, seen or unseen. He had no other lover to compare him to save for Elladan, and Elladan's supple willingness did not lend itself to confusion with the dominant chief advisor's aggressive touch. Elladan's warm brown eyes said _do what you will with me_ whereas Erestor's midnight eyes said _let me do what I will with you._ His hands said the same thing, and his lips and tongue. Elrohir swayed, wanting to be willow-like as Elladan in Erestor's arms, wanting to be stone, and wanting to mistake imagination for reality but not wanting to be mistaken.

"Do you pretend that I am Elladan?" He panted against Erestor's cheek. Erestor lapped delicately at his lower lip, sucked it, and whispered his response into the sultry cavern of Elrohir's mouth.

"No, never, lirimaer. You are not him."

There was no resonance or moment of enlightenment in those words; Elrohir knew they were true, and he always had. He was not Elladan, and Elladan was not here; there was no ghost of his brother to twine invisibly between them and transform this into something fey and magical. Not Elladan-and-Elrohir, but Erestor and Elrohir, giving and taking for their own dimly understood reasons. He wanted to ask if it was comfort that Erestor sought, perhaps even reassurance. That was lost, though, lost in feeling and aching desire as Erestor worked his own, more worldly magic.

It was different with Erestor alone as it had been different with only Elladan. Submissive, artful and balletically sensual Elladan had become heatedly submissive Elladan -- open, ripe, and aggressively demanding to be conquered. Detached Erestor gave became heated as well, but in a way that was soft, insistent, and controlling while intimately, totally involved. Elrohir arched into his touch and touched him in return, meeting no resistance. Clothes were shed, but he had no idea how; later, he had no recollection of the clumsiness of passionate baring of flesh.

He had known Erestor's coldness, his gifts of ecstasy, and his brutal sensuality. He had known even his tenderness. None of that compared to the trail of soft kisses that rained upon his face, throat, chest, and belly. There was no suddenness, no uneasy edge of dread and expectation, and Elrohir felt no qualms about knotting his hands in raven locks when Erestor finally took his length between his lips. He had seen him do the same thing often enough to Elladan, his hands white knuckled in Elladan's masses of flowing, dark brown hair, and he'd felt amazement that Elladan could maintain his grace even in that. Now, Erestor offered no complaint, and he did not draw back. Elrohir arched upward into his mouth's wet heat, held his head in place, and took it as if he were taking his body. He rose and fell, crying out wordlessly and thrusting harder and farther until he thought he heard something -- perhaps a mewl of surprise or even unease. Even so, Erestor's body remained smooth and heavy between his spread legs, somehow filling Elrohir's empty spaces even as his own were filled. Elrohir closed his eyes yet again and saw stars -- a silent eruption of angel fire.

When Erestor took him it was different yet again. Elrohir lay on his back with Erestor rocking in him and on him, and he felt Erestor's insistent touch on his cheek asking him to open his eyes. It was only the second time that he might have opened his eyes and seen Erestor possessing him; since that first night he had always been on his stomach, hands and knees, bent over a chair or table. Perhaps the advisor played his games, too; maybe he had not wanted to see the face of his lover's identical twin. Now he wanted, though, and Elrohir gave it to him. He opened his eyes, saw the passionate strain that was normally hidden by posture, position, or pose. Saw behind the midnight blackness to desire overriding thought. Saw Erestor's lips moving in the unmistakable shape of his name.

Their release was not synchronous, but close enough for a poet's reckoning. Elrohir allowed himself to be cleaned and permitted Erestor's close embrace and gentle shower of chaste kisses over his brow, eyelids, temples, cheeks. At last they settled comfortably together, bodies smoothly conforming in the narrow confines of Elrohir's bed.

"Do you ever let your lovers have you?" Elrohir asked softly, and Erestor shrugged carelessly.

"It's been known to happen."

"With Elladan?"

"No." Elrohir smiled against the skin of Erestor's collar bone, and raised his head to offer him a slow, teasing smile.

"What if he asked you?"

The older elf looked somewhat uncomfortable. "I suppose, then." Again he shrugged, but this time the gesture was not so casual. "Elladan's wants are simple and easy to grant."

"That could change. Melme." Elrohir chuckled, and nestled against Erestor's side, grinning up at the ceiling. "I had not figured you for a paper tiger, nor Elladan as the tail that wags it."

"Perhaps there's a reason for that." There was menace in Erestor's tone, but Elrohir only smiled. "Maybe this was not such a good idea…" Erestor allowed the words to fade away, seemingly contemplatively. Elrohir's expression of amusement did not fade.

"It's not nice to take back a gift, Erestor." He yawned and pushed back the raven hair that had spilled over his cheek. "I'm sleepy. Will you stay?"

"Of course." He leaned to extinguish the bedside lamp, and darkness again descended.

*****

He had risen in the night for a glass of wine, or rather to walk and clear his head. Elrohir was sound asleep, and had barely moved when he'd slid himself free of the young elf's arms. Erestor had paused to watch him for a brief moment. Elrohir was beautiful as Elladan was beautiful, but he was finding that this was the least important thing about the younger twin. Turning his back he'd dressed, gone in search of the bottle of rich burgundy in the library sideboard, and settled down to think.

"Matters are not going so well with your twins." It was a statement rather than a question, softly worded. Erestor peered over the rim of his glass at the lovely apparition poised by the door.

"What brings you here?" He asked mildly.

"You." The tone was bitter. "I couldn't sleep and saw the light. I knew it would be you here at this hour. You only do this when your thoughts are preying on you."

Erestor did not deny it. His lover knew him too well for that.

"Which is it? Or is it both?"

"Both." Erestor cut his gaze away, glanced out the window. The other elf crossed the room and settled across from him. He looked feline, a creature to draw eyes and desirous hands in spite of the risk of fangs and claws. Though of course, Erestor reflected, only those who had ever dared to touch would even know of those sharper edges.

"I will not tell you I told you so."

"Why, thank you, melethron nin." Erestor sighed. "I did not mean this."

"To lose your heart?" A soft laugh. "It seems you spread the word "love" around very thinly these days.

"I do love you."

"As I said." His expression was sardonic, but it did not conceal the hurt. "I let you go because I knew I could not hold you. Do not attempt to play mind games with me, with your questions of whom decided what and what was agreed to."

"I would not." Erestor raised his eyes to meet his lover's. "It was supposed to have been a well intentioned sport. They are in love, you know."

"You were not the only one to have seen that. Though it required your unique form of… assistance, to bring it to their attention." He took the bottle and sipped directly from it. The action should have seemed crude, yet did not.

"If you had argued with me, fought, railed…"

"No. Do not try to blame me for the situation you have gotten yourself into. You are so fond of choices; I thought you would appreciate that I gave you one."

"When it is… over." He swallowed hard on the word, and once again could not quite meet his lover's gaze. Stubborn pride fought with hurt and humiliation; he could not finish the sentence.

"When it is over," the other elf said softly, "will I be there to pick up the pieces? Is that what you want to ask me? If I yet love you?"

Erestor said nothing. Silence spun out between them. He could not answer, could not give voice to the words that wanted to rise. A sigh drifted across the space between them, both sad and amused.

"I will always love you, Erestor. Trust you, no. You will lose their trust, too."

"The poets say the two go hand in hand." His voice had lost its musical tone. It sounded rough, grating.

"Then we prove the poets wrong. One day you will tell me all of this, Erestor."

"And sooner rather than later from the looks of things." He shifted his gaze to the window, midnight to midnight. "Elladan wants vows, Elrohir wants vengeance, and I don't know what I want."

"Vows?" His lover snickered. "Your elfling is more daring than I imagined."

"He is not an elfling."

"Near enough." He rolled his eyes. "What did you tell him?"

"That we would talk about it again in six months. He is only pressing for this because he is frightened of the feelings he has for his brother."

"Mmm, stall for time. Makes sense." Another sip from the bottle. "I thought you said that Elladan was the easy one."

"Neither are easy, not in the way that you imply. Elladan is merely… more inclined to listen to the flesh without recourse to the mind."

"What a polite way of saying dull witted."

"I did not mean that, either." There was heat in his gaze when he glared at his lover. The other elf raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, so Elladan's the one who has stolen your heart."

Erestor cursed softly. "I did not mean to."

"No, you didn't. I'll grant you that." He rose from his seat. "And I must in fairness admit that I do not think Elladan dull, nor do I imagine that you would love one who is. He set the bottle on the table, lightly touched Erestor's raven hair. "When he's done breaking your heart, I will be here, melethron."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night before Elladan's return, Elrohir and Erestor have a drunken conversation.

He had not insisted upon spending an entire week of nights cramped in his narrow bed. The point had been made, and there was no need to belabor it. Also, having Erestor in the room that had been his and Elladan's since childhood had not felt right. Though the span of years he'd lived was short compared to most of the elves of his father's household, that room represented his known eternity. For most of it, Erestor had been an alternate father figure, instructor, and guide. He seemed too large for that room in a way that Elrohir could not quite put his finger on -- out of place or perhaps misplaced. Erestor's bed was better suited to the activities that took place in it than was Elrohir's, and he found that he could make a place for himself there much more easily than he could place Erestor amidst his accumulation of childhood memories.

After the first day he'd had no further difficulties with their days spent in the office, with or without Elrond's company. Though Elrohir had not consciously thought about it at the time, he saw that he'd been avoiding his father since the affair with Erestor and Elladan had begun as if he'd thought Elrond might pick the guilt from his thoughts as quickly and with as much distaste as he might pick a fly from a bowl of soup. It had seemed to him that his father had often looked at him strangely, as if he were trying to look through him to the carefully hidden secret Elrohir had no intention of revealing. In retrospect it was obvious to him that his own behavior was undoubtedly the cause of his father's concern. He had never hidden anything from him before, attempted to sneak behind his back, passively lied, or avoided his company. Of course he would have his suspicions.

 _Thank you, Erestor._ He thought wryly. _You've brought so much novelty to my heretofore comfortably normal existence._

The thought held more chagrined humor than real sting. He understood the advisor better than he had initially; it seemed that with the healing of his flesh had come a clearing of his mind. Elrohir had not wanted to believe that Erestor could truly have feelings for Elladan, but had wanted to insist to himself that the activities that took place in the bed chamber denied love and affection. That had been his error, and the reason he'd been manipulated so well and easily. Now he saw the truth in Erestor and Elladan's strange relationship. For all his passivity and submissiveness, Elladan held the largest degree of power because he held Erestor's heart. Knowing that granted Elrohir power, too.

"What are you thinking, melme?" Erestor asked. They were both seated on the bed, and both half drunk on the wine Erestor had brought for their last night before Elladan's return.

"This and that." He made no comment on Erestor's use of that particular endearment. "Melme" had become a semi sarcastic term tossed back and forth between them, but with little real rancor. It went oddly with the affection Elrohir had begun to hold for Erestor, but it still managed to fit. "About Elladan. You.." He waved his wine glass in an expressive circle. "Us."

"Mmm." Erestor said. Shrugged.

"Tell me…" Elrohir smiled lazily as he tossed back the last of his wine and poured himself more. "What is it between you two?"

Erestor sighed. "Haven't we covered this before?"

"No, no. I mean the sex." He snickered, and Erestor grinned.

"You are drunk, little one."

"Not that drunk. C'mon, tell me."

Erestor raised an eyebrow and offered him a look of mock effrontery. "Do you think my skills are that poor? Melme?"

Elrohir waved a dismissive hand. "Not that. I mean the whips and chains and clamps and all the exciting odd and ends you seem to have an endless supply of. Where do you get that stuff, anyway?"

"Oh, here and there."

Elrohir considered, and decided the matter wasn't worth pursuing. "Alright, then. Still, how is it for you, what is it? I've never really understood."

"Really?" Erestor said. "I think you do, at least a little."

"No, no, you're not going to turn this one on me. Talk."

Erestor set his glass aside and leant back in the pillows. He was more than a little drunk himself. The wine had turned him philosophical and loquacious. He considered Elrohir's question carefully before answering.

"Oh, it's as if he gives himself to me anew every night." A gentle smile played about his lips. "Trust, belief… It continually amazes me that he allows even me to treat him so. Yet, he does, and he has let me make him transparent, nothing hidden from me."

Elrohir nodded, quietly entranced. "And what about me?"

"Oh, you." Erestor laughed. "Definitely it's the sport."

"Sport?" Elrohir said

"Mmm, you give me a challenge. You'll play, but as you've said it's not for me. I'm never really sure who's getting what from whom." He ruffled Elrohir's hair playfully. "I could fall in love with you if I let myself. But that's… inadvisable."

"I would think so." He shrugged. "I trust you, too, you know. At least in the specifics if not the broader points."

Erestor snickered. "My, but haven't we come a long way." There was a tinge of bitterness in his words, and Elrohir repositioned himself to rest his head on the advisor's shoulder. He turned his head to press a kiss to Erestor's throat before snuggling against him.

"What about Elladan?"

"What about you?" Erestor arched an eyebrow. "You're willing enough, at least in the specifics you trust me in."

Elrohir shifted against him, sipped from his glass. "I don't think Elladan's reasons are the same as mine."

"No, I don't either. But let me guess, and you tell me if I'm right or wrong." He wrapped an arm around the younger elf's waist and pulled him close. His words drifted to Elrohir's ears in a soft gust of sweet wine scented air. "You love and hate the vulnerability. It excites you and frightens you because, for a little while afterwards, you want to trust farther than you think wise. It's an uncomfortable ecstasy, and you think that if you keep playing with it you'll eventually figure out… something."

"Something." Elrohir echoed.

"Am I right?"

"Maybe I don't want to be as transparent as Elladan."

"Maybe he's not wholly transparent, at least to others."

"You have a point." Elrohir smiled, and this time it was his turn to sound bitter. "I wouldn't know half of what I do if you hadn't given away the game."

"It's not a game, Elrohir. It never has been."

"And I don't know half of what I think I do." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Isn't that the next line?"

"Actually, you don't. But that doesn't matter."

Silence hung between them for a while -- an oddly comfortable silence. Elrohir polished off his wine, and Erestor companionably poured him a fresh glass.

"Don't think badly of him." Erestor finally said. Elrohir's eyes reflected hurt as he looked up at him.

"What am I supposed to think? Transparency and manipulation don't often go hand in hand."

"Then be angry with me. You've done a fine job until now of making excuses for Elladan so that I could be the only responsible party. And besides, that isn't far wrong." Erestor stroked Elrohir's cheek. "Has it not occurred to you that he might have been too afraid to go about this in any other way?"

"Elladan? Afraid?"

Erestor sighed impatiently. "Yes, Elladan afraid. Wouldn't you be afraid if you held desires that you thought might drive him away from you forever?"

"I suppose." His lips formed a thin line. "It was so good of you to bring all this to the surface, Erestor. You're so… self sacrificing and generous in your intentions."

"You don't know the half of it." Erestor said darkly. Elrohir glanced at him sharply, but the elder elf refused to elaborate.

"I'm jealous." Elrohir murmured into his glass. Erestor expression softened with amusement.

"I'm flattered."

"Don't be. I'm jealous of you, not Elladan." He considered his words carefully as he swirled the contents of his glass. Erestor reached to steady his hand before he could splash the wine on the counterpane. "He is such a contradiction… I never saw that before. I don't know if I want to kiss you or kill you."

"Kissing is preferable. At least in my opinion." He followed the words with action, turning Elrohir's face to taste his lips. The contact was warm and sweet in apparent denial of the low key argument that characterized their conversations. Elrohir sighed and rested his head against Erestor's chest when the kiss broke.

"I wish he was transparent to me."

"I could give you that."

"The way you gave me to him?" Cynicism colored Elrohir's words, and Erestor winced.

"Something like that." He rubbed Elrohir's shoulder gently. "Would you have done it, otherwise?"

"No. But that doesn't make it right." Elrohir sipped from his glass and wiped his chin with his hand as a small rivulet spilled from his lips. "Will you bother to tell him what you're doing? Or is this the next phase in the plan, something you and he have already decided upon?"

"He wants what you want, Elrohir." Again there was that strange note in Erestor's voice, both melancholy and mysterious. "You two are not so different in spite of your efforts to deny the sameness."

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "This, after all these weeks of telling us how wonderfully unique we are. I thought you were supporting our individuality. Among other things."

"Do you feel in need of a little support?" Erestor asked archly, and Elrohir chuckled.

"After all you've had to drink? I don't feel like being supported until lunch tomorrow."

"I'll take that as a compliment on my stamina."

"You should take it as stunned awe at your alcohol tolerance." He giggled into his wine glass. "So, transparent Elladan. And I suppose you've got plans for me, too?"

"Now that would be telling. Tomorrow, when Elladan is here, we'll play."

"And what do you get in return?"

"Satisfaction."

Elrohir met his eyes unsteadily. "That sounds menacing."

"It's not. At least not much."

"Maybe I have plans, too."

"I've rather suspected that you have, melme." The word sounded less sarcastic than usual, more affectionate. He kissed the top of Elrohir's head. "I trust you in the broad points as well as the specific ones."

"Good." Elrohir whispered. He began to say something else, but the words faded away unheard. Erestor plucked the glass from the young elf's hand, smiled as he settled him back among the pillows and covered him with sheets and counterpane.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that day. Everyone's a little shocky, and Erestor is being a bastard again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually worry too terribly much about the sex scenes, but these chapters do worry me. If you have been the victim of mental, emotional, or sexual abuse, the contents of this story may be triggering.

They were sleeping when he returned, Elladan nestled in Elrohir's arms. They looked kittenish in their slumber, hair tousled and eyes curiously shut in their half elven way. Erestor smiled as he set the tray of food on the bedside table. He would wake them to eat; the stealthy transportation of supper from the kitchen to the bed chamber had not been easy, and he was not about to let his efforts go to waste. Still, he spent a moment in quiet contemplation of them, of their sensuality and innocence.

Yes, innocence. He did not see his Elladan as debauched, and he did not view his treatment of Elrohir as a step toward innocence lost. Perhaps it would eventually be so. Elrohir was more inclined to think and manipulate -- to work his way through and into matters with cold precision and attention to detail. Right now he was beyond that, but Erestor knew that facet of his personality was still there, and that it could twist him in ways that his pliantly accepting brother would not be twisted.

A quick perusal of his chambers told him that they had availed themselves of the bath. The scent of sweet herbs told him they had availed themselves of each other. Again he smiled. He would have liked to have seen that, but this was his gift to Elladan. Elladan wanted Elrohir, and not because his brother was telling himself that he was complying under duress or out of confusion, or that he was simply following orders or playing a game. Just Elladan-and-Elrohir, two as one in a tabooed paradise. Erestor sighed. It was what he had told himself he wanted, but now he ached as he fully realized his loss of Elladan, and saw the beginning of the end in the two beautifully entwined figures in his bed.

"Wake up, lirimaer." He whispered, stroking Elladan's hair. The young elf purred and leant back into his touch. Erestor ran his hand over the nape of his neck and along the strong muscles of Elladan's shoulders. "Time to open your eyes, sweet one."

"Erestor." Elladan murmured sleepily, and Erestor did not even try to resist the urge to take him into his arms. He buried his face in Elladan's neck, closing his eyes against the sting of tears. 

"I've brought you your supper." He said as he released him. Elladan sat up straighter against the cushions and began pulling Elrohir up along with him. His twin wore the lazy, satiated look of a cat awakened from sleeping off a full bowl of rich cream. Erestor wanted to feel anger, perhaps even hatred, but he could not. Elrohir's eyes widened as they focused on him, and he wavered between greeting and nervous withdrawal. Erestor touched his cheek. "How are you, Elrohir?"

"Fine." He said softly. "Better."

"Mmm, let me see."

The younger twin obediently scooted forward and twisted to show Erestor his back. The welts had healed over the course of the day; there was little left save for some slight reddening of the skin. Erestor had no doubt that Elladan had a great deal to do with Elrohir's quick recovery.

"Good, little one. I've brought supper for you, too."

Elrohir glanced at him solemnly over his shoulder, and repositioned himself beside Elladan. The scholar had not returned yet; Elrohir looked as if a hundred years had been shocked from him as he sat peering owlishly at Erestor through tendrils of dark hair. Erestor pushed Elrohir's hair back and offered him a plate.

"Is father very angry with us?" Elladan asked.

"Not as angry as he could be." Erestor shrugged. "Expect a lecture on responsible behavior before supper tomorrow."

Elladan frowned at his plate. Elrohir looked up. "You…" He closed his mouth with an audible click and hazarded a quick glance at Elladan.

"What, Elrohir?" Erestor asked him. "You know it's safe here, now, do you not?"

"You… you can't do this very often." He said to his vegetables. "There would be… repercussions. Not good for any of us. Father is angry…" His words trailed away, and Erestor reached to touch his cheek.

"No, this doesn't happen very often, lirimaer. I have no desire for you to be under Elrond's scrutiny. As you say, that's not good for any of us."

It should have pleased him that this was Elrohir's only concern, and that instead of attempting childish refusal he had instead merely asked for moderation. It did not please him. For the first time since this had begun he wondered if his lover had not been right. _Damn you, Elrohir_ he thought without heat. _Is it not enough that I have already lost my heart to your brother?_

Elladan picked at his meal, pushing the bits of roast meat around his plate while continuing to hold Elrohir with his free arm. It made the meal awkward for him, but since he did not seem to be eating much of it, Erestor supposed it wasn't a huge concern. Finally he took Elladan's fork, gently removing it from his fingers and smiling at his surprised look.

"Will you eat that if I help you with it, melme?"

"I'm sorry." He smiled disarmingly and let himself be fed. Erestor set the fork aside and lifted a bite of meat to Elladan's lips with his fingers. Elladan smiled as he took it, licking delicately at the juices coating Erestor's fingers. Chocolate eyes danced playfully as Elladan peered at him through his lashes and arched his neck to make the simple act swan-like and graceful. Erestor smiled and squeezed in beside him.

"You don't have to do that, little one."

Elladan blinked, and Erestor mentally cursed himself for the uncertainty he now saw on his young lover's face. Elladan was trying to distract him, but more importantly he was trying to distract himself. Of course this offering of food from his hand would be interpreted as the beginning of love play, and of course his words would be misinterpreted.

"I only meant that I am concerned when you do not eat; ‘tis a rare thing indeed for you to be without appetite."

Elladan smiled and shrugged. This, apparently, was all he was going to get, at least in Elrohir's presence. Elrohir was silent, nestled against Elladan's body and eating with head bowed. He did not look up or show any interest in the discussion taking place; his plate was already nearly clean.

"Elrohir."

He glanced up, startled, hair bouncing about his shoulders.

"Could you make it to your rooms and Elladan's, unseen, to bring clothing for tomorrow?"

"Of course." He sounded slightly wounded, insulted that Erestor might think him incapable of such a simple task. Erestor hid a smile.

"Good. Finish up your meal, and then go fetch everything you'll need for tomorrow."

He took a last bite, and disentangled himself from his brother's arm. "I'll go now."

*****

Erestor had given up trying to feed Elladan shortly after Elrohir had dressed and left. Without the silent enjoinder to be graceful and beautiful, it had become a mechanical exercise that was disturbing rather than gratifying. Finally he set the plate aside and drew Elladan into his arms.

He had been afraid that Elladan would stiffen against him, or perhaps even pull away, but the younger elf did neither. Instead he clung to him with feverish intensity, pressing his face against his chest and twined arms and legs about him. Erestor kissed his forehead, held him close, and tried to think of something to say. At last, Elladan saved him the effort.

"Are you ashamed of me, Erestor?" Elladan said. His voice was small, child-like.

"What has given you that idea?" He whispered. "After all of the many times I've told you how proud I am of you?"

"You still would rather lie to father than let anyone know that you love me. And that I love you."

He took a deep breath and wished he'd chosen some other place as their safe spot. Like maybe the attic or the wine cellar.

"Elladan, that is for your sake, not mine."

"I'm not afraid, not ashamed of you." Elladan's words tumbled out in a flood as he looked up into Erestor's face. Tears glimmered in his eyes. "I love you, Erestor, and you say you love me… I want to be yours. Forever."

"And what of Elrohir, Elladan?" He asked softly, and Elladan's eyes darted away.

"He is my brother. Or do you mean that you…" He bit his lip.

"No, I do not mean that I love him more than you, lirimaer. Never." Erestor soothed. "I mean only that now that you have what you want, where does this leave him?"

"I don't know. I don't care." The lie was reflected in his eyes, but Erestor did not comment. "You said you would give me anything."

"And I did not lie. I promise you, Elladan, that if you still feel this way in six months time, I will go to your father and state my intentions. Does that seem fair to you?"

"It has already been more than a year."

"But things have changed, have they not, melme?"

"That was your choice!" Elladan sat up, staring at Erestor in a mixture of hurt and anger. "You wanted him, you asked me to bring him here!"

"Why do you think I did that, Elladan?" He grasped the young elf by the shoulders and gently shook him. "Do you not think that I saw your desire, or that I was not expecting it when you asked me to give him to you, to let him take you, to be with you and you alone?"

Elladan looked down. His hands were shaking. "I love you." He said again, softly, through trembling lips, and Erestor pulled him close.

"I know you do, precious one, I never doubt it. But please, will you wait?"

Perhaps it was hearing Erestor use that word, often on his own lips but never on Erestor's. A choice, a bit of power placed in his hands to do with as he would, with Erestor's unspoken but clearly heard promise to abide his decision. Elladan contemplated his hands, contemplated Erestor's request. Nodded his head in reply.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan returns. Introspection. Elrohir and Elladan have a discussion.

Elrohir was waiting for him when he returned with the border patrol. It had been an exciting week for him even though it had been routine for the others. Unlike them, it had been Elladan's first real experience as part of a combat force away from the immediate vicinity of the elven haven. That there had been no combat was secondary to the fact that he would have been involved if there had been, and not as an elfling or heir to protect, but as one of those whose duty it was to protect others.

He held no high rank or particular status among them as the youngest and least experienced. In a peculiar way it was like his nights with Erestor during which his name and circumstances of birth were meaningless. Unlike Erestor, however, the leader of his patrol team knew that the day would come when Elladan might command him. With Erestor, that was irrelevant.

And now here was Elrohir waiting for him, standing casually by the stable doors as the group rode in. A pleased smile lent a radiant glow to his lovely face, and Elladan responded to that welcoming smile with one of his own. The only thing needed to make the scene perfect would have been Erestor's presence, but of course the chief advisor had no reason to be here to greet the returning warriors. Elrohir had the excuse of brotherly affection, but Erestor had nothing. A cloud passed briefly over his interior sun as he considered that. Brotherly affection could be a reason rather than an excuse, even beneath all else that was between them. And Erestor had less reason than Elrohir to conceal their relationship.

Then the clouds were forgotten as he swung down from the saddle and was swept into Elrohir's embrace.

"I missed you, Elladan!" His tone was genuine. Elladan laughed and nearly lifted Elrohir from his feet. Several of the other elven fighters cast them amused glances. A groomsman came to lead his horse away, and Elladan offered him a quick, off hand greeting as he patted his horse's flank before turning back to Elrohir.

"Have I missed anything?"

"No, not really." Elrohir chuckled, and tossed him a quick, sly look. Elladan smirked.

"Well, you missed a lot! I can't leave just yet, but can we meet in about two hours time? Before supper? I'll tell you everything."

"Sure."

Elladan lowered his voice, and darted a quick, embarrassed look around him. "Is father still angry?"

"Yes, but he's getting over it. I think it's more between him and mother now than about us."

"Good." Elladan clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll see you in a couple of hours. My room?"

"Sounds good. I'll see you there."

*****

The report given by the patrol leader had been standard and almost formulaic in its delivery aside from the mention of evidence of poaching they had found near the western border. Elladan had not been called upon to speak, but he had listened attentively to the final report. Later he would find himself on the other end of this report, listening to Glorfindel discuss possible responses to their findings.

He had always found such exercises tedious in the classroom. Elrohir had been the one to excel at re-waging ancient wars and thinking of solutions to hypothetical situations. Elladan supposed that it had been the past tense of those discussions that had thrown him off -- the senselessness of assigning imaginary roles to imaginary soldiers in order to deal with imaginary problems. Back then Erestor had often become impatient with his boredom and lack of attention. That was no longer a problem now that he could see the point in discussion and decision making, and could see with his own eyes the results of the decisions reached.

How many times had he heard his father tell him that he'd regret his inattention in the classroom when he was older? Elladan didn't know, and found that now as then he did not regret it. Erestor had never been easy to get around; he had made sure that Elladan knew the material even if neither of them had particularly enjoyed the process. Elrohir had been Erestor's star, and now Elladan was Erestor's heart and Glorfindel's star. The past didn't matter, and the present… well, in the present he had two lovers who thought him incapable of deep thought, clear as window glass, in need of protection, and possibly of a special helper to explain weighty matters to him. That had its advantages, though at times it could also be aggravating.

He trusted Erestor. That was beyond doubt, though he suspected there was something behind the initial interest the chief advisor had shown in him that he'd be better off not knowing. Elladan was comfortable with that, too. How many times had he heard lovers argue about what had been, or about perceived lies long past suddenly brought to the surface? It seemed foolish to him. The present was what mattered. That Erestor had begun their relationship out of some dimly seen and undoubtedly murky motivation was secondary to the fact that Erestor had fallen in love with him, and he with Erestor. What had gone before was as dead as the ancient heroes he'd learned about on those long, boring afternoons in the classroom. There was nothing even to be learned from their personal past as there was from the history books. Emotion defies logic and facts. That was something Elladan knew though Erestor with all his age and intelligence seemed not to.

And Elrohir… he considered Elrohir thoughtfully as he returned to his personal quarters, ran a bath, and began to undress. Elrohir was his life and his sin, apart from what he had with Erestor and seeming not to overlap with it. Not three together, but two and one in varying combinations. Erestor and Elrohir sharpened their claws upon each other, and fought using Elladan's body as their battleground. It was disconcerting and exhilarating. Elrohir would maintain that he fought for his brother, but Elladan became invisible when he and Erestor met in anger, desire and soft want. Once Elladan had gloried in being the focus; now he felt deliriously disoriented at being disputed property, puppet, and prize.

Erestor fought with soft words and cruel bondage, tender endearments, and the bite of the lash. Elrohir fought with soft touches and sharp words, and by appealing to his sense of logic and order. Elladan wondered how long it would go on -- how long he would lie between them while Erestor made and re-made his points in soft flesh and Elrohir teetered on the edge of want and desire. How long Elrohir would spend in spiriting him away to kiss and touch only to deny it later. They had made love, and it had been purest ecstasy. He hoped Elrohir would not deny that.

He knew Elrohir's fear because he felt it himself. He knew that fear every time the blindfold was settled over his eyes and he stepped into that dark valley of trust. He had felt fear since adolescence when he had first looked into his brother's eyes and felt something besides fraternal affection. Erestor did not know that emotion negates fact; Elrohir did not know that fear could not be an obstacle. Fear was the first enemy in any engagement, and the only enemy that mattered. To give in to fear was to lose… everything.

*****

Elrohir let himself into Elladan's room without knocking. There had been no need to knock when they had shared a room, and now he doubted if either of them could be embarrassed no matter what act he might be caught in. The thought brought a ghost of a smile to his lips.

Elladan was sprawled comfortably across his bed, his hair still wet from his bath. He had not bothered to braid it yet, and it fell in damp tendrils across the pillows. The greens and grays of Imladris' soldiers had been exchanged for midnight blue leggings and a dark red tunic. The colors suited them; Elrohir himself habitually dressed in sunset colors.

"Your pillow is going to end up soaked."

Elladan shrugged. "It's not like I sleep on it."

"Point taken." Elrohir smiled and sank down on the bed beside his brother. "Do you ever feel sorry for the laundresses who have to wash our sheets?"

"No, I feel sorry for the ones who have to wash Erestor's."

Elrohir burst into laughter, and Elladan joined him. "I never thought about that," Elrohir choked out between giggle fits, "but you know they have to wonder. Are you sure he doesn't wash them himself?"

Elladan doubled over at the image of Erestor crouched over a vat of hot water working sheets through a laundry wringer. "If he does, I've certainly never caught him at it. And I'd swear I've seen everything in his rooms; I'd know if he had a wash board or wringer laying around…" He dissolved into peals of laughter. "Does he ever leave the office for unexplained lengths of time on a regular basis?"

"No." Elrohir settled down to the occasional snicker. "Maybe we should ask him about it."

"No, I think you should. You were the one who brought up sheets and laundry."

"He's your sweetheart!"

"Yes, and true love makes grubby little issues irrelevant." Elladan essayed an arrogant look, and Elrohir batted him upside the head. "And I thought you had some sort of fondness for him. Aside from lust and the occasional spate of outrage, that is."

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "Truthfully, Elladan, I have no clue what I feel. Can we just leave it for a change?"

"Sure." Elladan closed his eyes. "Things have been a little… tense, lately."

"That's one way of putting it." Elrohir said darkly. Elladan grinned.

"So, what have you two been up to while I was out defending Imladris from uncounted horrors and menacing enemies?"

Elrohir smirked. "Oh, you mean the poachers? I better say this first of all, so you'll know how much we appreciate you. Thank you, Elladan, for making sure raving human fur trappers or antler hunters didn't overrun the house last week."

"This is the gratitude I get." He offered up a pained sigh, then laughed. "Seriously, though, I was concerned about you and Erestor while I was away. If you and he would even get along at all while I was away."

"I don't think this is solely about you anymore." Elrohir said softly. He reached to take Elladan's hand. "We've gotten along. I only spent one night in my room." He neglected to mention that he had not spent that night alone, but Elladan nodded unquestioningly.

"I tried to tell you that there is more between us than what you wanted to see."

"I know." Elrohir met his gaze steadily. "He loves you." Elladan smiled complacently, and Elrohir mentally crossed his fingers. "Do you think he'd do anything for you?" He ventured, and Elladan's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know you'd do anything for him. Wouldn't you?"

Elladan bit his lower lip and his eyes flickered down to his hands folded on his belly. "Almost anything." He finally said. The words caught Elrohir off guard. When Elladan looked up he saw his brother regarding him quizzically. "I wouldn't give you up, even if he asked that of me," he clarified.

For a long moment Elrohir said nothing. The conversation had abruptly veered in an unintended direction, but one deserving of exploration. He could not ignore it, but neither did he want to wander too far from the conversational path he'd been leading Elladan along.

"I would not give you up, either, Elladan." He said softly. "You know I had my reservations, but you also know I love you. It takes a great weight from my heart to know that you wouldn't have that any other way."

"Never, Elrohir. Not for anyone. Anything else, though, yes, I'd do for Erestor. And I suppose he feels the same."

"Have you ever asked him for anything?"

"Well…" He glanced away, face coloring, and Elrohir smiled.

"Besides me."

"It truly wasn't like that, Elrohir. I mean, I didn't have to ask because he knew."

"I'm not upset. I was, but not now." Elrohir scooted up beside his brother and slung an arm around his shoulders. "We talked about that this week. I don't think I would have been up front about that either, not at the beginning." He frowned over the words, and Elladan turned to kiss his cheek.

"It's over now. Doesn't matter."

"I suppose." He forced himself back to his subject. "Have you ever had him? As he has us?"

"No." Elladan blushed. "I never thought about it, to be honest."

"Oh, come on!" Elrohir's eyes widened in amazement, and he sat up to face his brother. "After all the times he has had you in every way possible you have never thought of what it would be like to have him under you?"

"No, really, I have not!" Elladan's face was rapidly turning fuschia. Elrohir laughed.

"I bet he'd move like the Bruinen in early spring." Elrohir said wickedly, a lascivious smile curving his lips. "And I must admit that he is beautiful… surely you'd love to look down into that face with that hair spread on the pillow around him…"

Elladan licked his lips. "I just never…

"Well, I do." Elrohir said. "I've been thinking about it since the day after the welts on my back healed completely over.

"That is not fair, Elrohir. You let him do that."

Elrohir shrugged. "That may be so, but I'd still like to see what it would be like to bend him over, and it's not as if being made love to is a hardship…" Elladan's eyes widened and he clapped his hands to his mouth like a prudish old woman. Elrohir laughed. "You're acting like I suggested we make love in the temple!"

"No, it's not that… It's just that I never thought… but when you put it that way…" His words trailed away, but his flustered expression was turning thoughtful.

"Well, you said you thought he'd do anything."

"I think he would, and that that's not anything untoward to want." Elladan frowned. "I don't think relationships are about testing one another, though."

"I'm not saying you should test him. I'm just saying that you should feel free to make your own intimate requests from time to time."

"I am free!"

Elrohir cast him a sardonic look. "Well, you need to make better use of your freedom then. And besides, you owe me."

Elladan's eyes widened. "You are not suggesting that I attempt to force my lover into something he's not comfortable with or doesn't want."

Elrohir gaped. "Now I am certain that I have missed something."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, let us see." Elrohir retorted. All thought for his carefully laid plan disappeared as frustrated anger arose in its place. The unmitigated gall of his brother's statement, and his tone of righteous indignation triggered Elrohir's temper as nothing else could have. "You did not object to manipulating me into your relationship, and you certainly didn't spare much thought for my comfort or willingness."

"I did not manipulate you! You said you were not angry."

"I'm not angry. Maybe feeling a little betrayed, but angry, no." He knew he was losing control of the situation rapidly, but that was no longer a primary concern. "Now let me see if I have this straight. You never asked for anything, but Erestor knew what you wanted. Next thing I know I'm having a moonlit talk by the river with you, and then I'm in my old tutor's bed, and now I don't deserve anything back for it. Dammit, Elladan, just because you didn't directly ask and collude doesn't mean your hands are clean. You can't tell yourself it's not really your doing because you were just going with the flow."

"You said you didn't want to talk about this." Elladan's voice sounded small. Again, he was looking down at his hands, and Elrohir's feelings of frustrated hurt vanished, replaced by a flood of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Elladan." He sighed, and gently stroked back his brother's hair. "I don't know where that came from."

"Yes, you do."

"Alright. I guess I am upset, but I don't want to ruin things… sometimes it's just a little much for me. Forgive me, Elladan?"

"Do you forgive me?" Elladan asked quietly. Inanely, Elrohir was reminded of his father's repeated lectures on manners, and his specific directive on not answering questions with questions. At last he spoke.

"Yes, Elladan, I do."

"And Erestor, too?"

"That, I don't know. It's going to take a while." It was the best he could do. Elladan nodded, seemingly willing to accept that.

"I know this makes you angry, Elrohir, but I'm not going to ask something of him just because you think it might hurt him, even if I don't really understand why it would."

Elrohir did feel a brief upsurge of his previous fury, but it was mercifully short. "I understand that, Elladan. But, I know that hurting him would hurt you, and that I could never do." He looked away, his expression pensive. "We made love every night this past week."

That caught Elladan's full attention. "And?"

"And maybe what I want isn't to hurt him. Not in the way you think I want to, anyway."

"I didn't know there were variations."

Elrohir smirked. "You of all people should know better than that."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Maybe I just want from him what he wants from us. Is that so terrible, Elladan?"

"I don't know." Elladan pulled Elrohir back into the pillows. "I'm not scared of him, but sometimes you scare me, Elrohir. Because you think you know what's best for me, and though you accuse me of manipulation, I know you would have no objection to manipulating matters for what you perceive as my own good."

"I'm sorry if I seem to have been treating you like a child." Elrohir said softly. He looked deeply into Elladan's eyes. "Trust me that I'm out for my own good this time?"

The words should have sounded self serving and cold, but Elladan understood what he meant. "We'll see. Is that good enough?"

"It is." Elrohir leaned closer, and brushed his lips across Elladan's. Again he felt that moment of oddness -- that surreal quality of touching while dressed, touching outside the sacred chamber, touching in a place where they could not forget they were brothers. He closed his eyes and kissed Elladan again. "Later tonight after dinner?"

"Of course. I told you I've missed you. Missed you both."

"We missed you, too." And then there were no further words. Elrohir settled into Elladan's arms, feeling relieved.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sex and some discussion. Elladan makes a request.

"Missed you so much, Elladan." Erestor whispered into waves of dark brown hair. He had missed him, and was grateful that he had arrived early instead of coming with Elrohir as had become their habit. The arranging and rearranging of three willing bodies was easy enough, but orchestrating hearts and minds was more difficult. Erestor had wanted time to greet his lover and properly focus on him alone without having to divide his attention. Outwardly, they were his toys, willing to be played with in whatever combinations or order suited him, but Erestor saw the shadows that darkened Elrohir's eyes when he was set to one side, and he knew the shadow that fell over his own heart when he saw Elladan in Elrohir's arms. The twins were not his, and he was uncertain if it was himself or Elladan who was being shared.

"I missed you, too." Elladan nestled in his lap. The nightshirt he wore was more elaborate than usual, with ruffles and lace held together by ribbons and rows of tiny pearl buttons at wrists and throat. Erestor loved these shirts, loved the feel of soft silk sliding over hard muscle, and loved watching Elladan's golden tanned skin revealed as he pulled the material over his head. Sometimes, as on this night, he loved the anticipation of unwrapping Elladan -- of taking his time with small closures and fastenings, and revealing that skin an inch at a time.

"Did you think of me often?"

"Yes." Elladan purred. "I dreamt of you at night, and woke wanting you. But I was good." He smiled shyly at Erestor, gazing at him through a veil of long lashes. "I'm the way you said you wanted me. Wanting and needing."

The words stirred his blood, making him want to carry the young elf directly to the bed, lock his wrists to the posts, and take him with a burning intensity that Elrohir's willing, sharp edged presence had not cooled. Elrohir would say nothing if he walked in on them. Elrohir would undress and wait, shadow eyed. It was that knowledge that gave him the will to remain holding Elladan's slightly trembling figure close in his arms.

"Soon, lirimaer, soon." He felt more than heard Elladan sigh against his cheek. "Did you miss, Elrohir also?"

"Yes." He said softly, and nuzzled his face into Erestor's neck. Erestor did not ask whom Elladan had missed more, or if his dreams had brought him both of them, or each of them separately. Instead he lifted Elladan's chin so that their lips could meet, taking Elladan's mouth the way he knew Elladan wanted to be taken, wrists held behind him, and with shoulders curled back. He held the kiss until Elladan was panting and shaking, supple and bending as a young willow. Until he heard the soft click of the door. He did not look over to Elrohir, but Elladan did, sloe eyes shifting from his master to his twin thoughtlessly, unhesitatingly, naturally. Something constricted in Erestor's heart, something that felt like steel and ice.

Elladan felt his mistake in the stiffening of Erestor's body, and in the sudden absence of enfolding arms. His eyes returned to meet those of his lover, but Erestor's gaze had fallen, and was intent on the small buttons that he'd begun to undo. Slender fingers moved swiftly, efficiently, exposing skin with an alacrity that made Elladan's heart race with both tense desire and aroused anxiety. He maintained his stillness by force of long training, feeling heat rising in his cheeks at the giddy twist of shame in his belly. That had never completely gone away, never completely faded. It arose in the absence of Erestor's approval, at the knowledge of what he would do to regain it, and at what he was already doing. It blended slyly with the heat of lust and made it easy for him to turn his forearms so that Erestor could more easily unfasten the ribbons and buttons at his wrists, and it made it easy for him to keep his eyes on his lover's face.

Peripherally he could see Elrohir undressing, removing his clothes and setting them aside as if he were readying himself for bed instead of for a tryst. Elrohir knew that Erestor's eyes were not upon him, and unlike Elladan, he felt no compulsion to perform without an audience. Elladan knew that if he turned his head to look, his brother's face would be expressionless, his eyes flat and ungiving as a lizard's. Dressed, it was a look that could be interpreted as mild disgust or perhaps mild academic interest. Nude, it could not conceal the fact that his interest was more than mild, more than academic.

He folded his hands primly in his lap when Erestor had finished with his cuffs, maintaining eye contact as Erestor's hands swept over the glossy silk of his hair to the slender ribbon holding it back from his face. Years of wearing it in braids held it in place even when those braids were removed; it took several finger sweeps to make it fall forward around his face in tangled tendrils. Out of the corner of his eye, Elladan could see Elrohir running his own fingers through his hair, achieving the same effect for the cold stare of the full length oval mirror.

Reflexes brought him cleanly and elegantly to his feet when Erestor moved, rising without regard for the twin perched on his thighs. There was no gleam of praise in his eyes, however, when he reached to lift the nightshirt in a single, swift motion over Elladan's head. It was not an unexpected move, and Elladan had raised his arms with swan-like grace in anticipation of it. Still, there was no faint smile, no warming of midnight depths as Erestor touched his fingers to Elladan's chin and turned him to face his brother.

They were matched. Elrohir had once snidely asked if the small differences of nudity to night shirt and hair bound to unbound were so Erestor could tell them apart. Elladan had chuckled, and Erestor had made no reply. The differences were not for Erestor, but for them. Elladan obliquely understood how such a confusion of self could take place, and how easy it could be to lose one's identity here. A small shiver swept through him as he stared at Elrohir, studying the identical face framed by loose, dark hair, the exposed body that in spite of a preference for study still bore the same musculature and proud stance, and now, after a month's time spent learning Erestor's desires, the same graceful posture.

"Center rug. Kneel facing one another."

They complied, Elladan with simple acquiescence and Elrohir with an insolent grace that Erestor had not yet succeeded in beating or shaming out of him. Only a few bare inches were needed for them to be within kissing distance; Elladan could see the flecks of gold in his brother's eyes and could feel the warmth of his breath on his skin.

A tap on his shoulder indicated that he should move back; Elrohir did likewise. They moved away from each other until they were separated by a distance of roughly a foot and a half. Now Elladan held Elrohir's gaze perfectly, and did not shift to follow Erestor's movements as he should not have shifted to watch Elrohir's entrance. Now it didn't matter, though; present perfection did not make up for past failure.

Elrohir stared back, but his gaze jittered, shook, and almost drifted before snapping back. There was a tightness around his mouth that had faded in the weeks preceding Elladan's absence, and Elladan wondered what could have happened in seven days to bring that tension back. There were no fresh marks on his brother's skin, but he knew that not all of Erestor's games left marks. He considered that, uncertain whether he was pleased or displeased at the thought.

Only a faint, muffled jingle gave away Erestor's movements by the wardrobe -- a muffled jingle that could mean a variety of things. Elladan relaxed, waited, and watched his brother's eyes almost cut sharply to the right to see what Erestor was doing. He caught himself, and Elladan inhaled deeply, unaware until that moment that he had been holding his breath.

"Watch, Elladan." Erestor said in that familiar didactical tone that spiraled Elladan back to the classroom where he didn't know the answers, and where further explanations and examples were always required. His cheeks colored, but he did as he was bade, following the motion of Erestor's hands from the box he had set beside him on the floor to the smoothness of his brother's chest.

A slender chain appeared between those hands, and at each end of it a metal clip. Elladan barely restrained a sigh at the sight. He knew the cold kiss of these toys,and the sensation of mounting pressure as the tension wheels at the side of the clips were spun -- electric pleasure turning to discomfort and then to pain. No punishment here in Elladan's opinion; even the pain was no more than a counterpoint to further layers of pain, pleasure, or both combined. These were something both he and Erestor liked playing with, and had made a part of their stylized acts of eroticism since the beginning.

Elrohir was no longer looking into his eyes but past his shoulder as Erestor teased a nipple to hardness between thumb and forefinger. A blindfold would have been a kindness; unlike Elladan, Elrohir seemed to take comfort in the loss of sight and the inability to know what was to come. In a small way the option of disobedience was removed with the use of the blindfold, and it was for this reason that Erestor had begun leaving it off. Elrohir struggled not to look down as his flesh was manipulated just as Elladan would have struggled to remain still under the same touch were he in the dark.

Cold metal touched flesh. Elrohir gasped softly as the clip held his stiff nipple. Erestor studied his face as he spun the wheel, slowly tightening the device until the strain showed on Elrohir's face. Instead of attaching the opposite end, he retrieved an identical set of clips from the box, affixed that one likewise. The tip of Elrohir's tongue danced out to touch his upper lip, and Elladan stared, his gaze caught between parted lips and dangling chains.

"Very good, Elrohir." An echo of the past, strangely rendered in the stillness of this room. Erestor ran an appreciative hand along Elrohir's flank, briefly encircled his waist with his arm. Elladan watched, tight lipped, knowing what was coming next.

Elladan's nipples were already rock hard, and it took only a bare moment to link Elladan and Elrohir together. There was no need for slow adjustment; Erestor knew exactly how to set them, and at what point Elladan felt the bite as discomfort or pain. He teetered on the edge of pleasure fading into discomfort, and arched his shoulders slightly backwards to feel the fullness of the device's sting. Elrohir winced, and a smile ghosted over Elladan's lips. His brother had tried to be brave about it. Elladan knew the current of pleasure would fade into a steady but bearable dull ache, but that eventually the slightest touch on the chain would bring searing agony. Elrohir didn't know that, but he was sure that next time Elrohir would not hesitate to subtly indicate his feelings as the clips were tightened.

A pair of tear drop shaped weights appeared next, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, solid black and deceptively innocuous in appearance. Distress was visible on Elrohir's face as each was hooked neatly at the half way point of the connecting chains. Erestor kissed his temple gently, loosened the clips at his nipples. Elladan's eyes narrowed at his brother's unrestrained sigh of relief. It was not usually Erestor's way to make allowances for their mistakes. Then Erestor was tightening his clips in response to the loosening of Elrohir's, and Elladan understood. The image being created was two as one, and as long as the original tension between them was maintained on both sides, no change had been made.

Erestor moved behind Elrohir and settled his hands lightly on his hips. He drew Elrohir's hands to the base of his spine and cast Elladan a sharp look of command from over Elrohir's shoulder. Elladan copied the pose immediately, gritted his teeth against the sting of the clips.

He watched, as he had been instructed, as Erestor kissed the soft skin of Elrohir's throat and lifted his hair to graze the nape of his neck with his lips. Small shivers racked Elrohir's body as Erestor's lips moved downward along the path of his spine. Elladan imagined the heat of his tongue dancing over sensitized nerve endings, and read the tale of his brother's arousal in his glazed, half hooded eyes, parted lips, and stiff cock.

Erestor settled back on his heels between Elrohir's calves, and the tremors grew more violent, with soft moans flowing from between rose lips. Elladan clenched his jaw as each shiver communicated through slender links, pulling at his pained flesh in a way he knew Elrohir was no longer feeling so strongly. The black weights swung in small, erratic arcs that spoke of a hot, wet tongue delving into Elrohir's cleft, and Elladan's gaze fixed on those rather than on the fingers pressed into his brother's skin, holding and spreading. He tracked the movement of Erestor's tongue through the weights' movement, staring at them narrow eyed and envisioning the swirl of pink muscle around muscle, then watching the direction of the arc change as Elrohir was penetrated.

The discomfort had increased, rending harsh gasps from Elladan in counterpoint to Elrohir's rising cries of ecstasy. His interlocked fingers were white, cords stood out on his neck, and it was with a supreme effort of will that he maintained his shoulders-back posture. Elrohir was beyond caring for what pain he was causing, or for anything but the delicious sensations of controlled wetness and metallic pressure. His movements grew more rhythmic and insistent when Erestor replaced his tongue with fingers, spilled warm oil over the invading digits and worked them in and out of his tight passage. Elladan whimpered, earning a dark smile from Erestor.

"You must understand, pen-rhoven," Erestor whispered into Elrohir's hair, "I cannot leave my dear one alone for much longer."

Clearly Elrohir understood nothing, not even the words that had been spoken to him. The words had not been meant for him, however, and his understanding was not required. Elladan understood the words and corresponding action, the hand reaching for the box from which the linked clips had been taken, and though he did not see the object lifted from it he knew it well enough. Elrohir's eyes opened, his body stiffening at the feeling of something smooth and solid pressed between his taut globes, and Elladan closed his eyes in relief at the brief respite.   
"Be still, lirimaer." Erestor said, and amazingly, Elrohir was still. Elladan watched the tightening of his features through the heavy fringe of his lashes, and the way his jaw come unhinged as the phallus shaped object was worked into his constricting heat. Erestor's lips were pressed to his cheek, one arm wrapped around his waist as he pushed it in, and again Elrohir was shaking, setting the black tear drops to dancing like leaves in the faintest of breezes.

A soft mewl passed Elrohir's lips as he adjusted to the object's size, and Erestor waited, giving him a chance to relax around it. Elladan knew it was both longer and thicker than what they were accustomed to from his own experience of trembling anxiety trembling into static shot bliss. Erestor nuzzled against his Elrohir's face, whispering soft words of encouragement as he slipped the object farther into him, waited, then sheathed it fully.

He knew when anxiety vanished into pleasure, if not from the shift in his brother's features then from the rhythmic, vicious bite of the weighted clips on his nipples, snarling through the steady ache in his pectorals. Erestor's free hand was now pressing on Elrohir's abdomen, easing the younger twin back on his heels, and Elladan moaned unrestrainedly at the increasing pull. It was impossible now to remain upright; the clips would snap off in a last, near blinding flash of pain if he remained kneeling straight backed. Elrohir sank down and backward, the ends of his hair sweeping across the smooth wood floor, and Elladan bowed forward, forehead nearly touching his brother's midriff.

He felt Erestor's hand on his hair, but it was a distant sensation, barely recognized and utterly insignificant. Oiled fingers explored between his wide spread legs, coating the inner curve of his buttocks, stroking and pressing against his opening. He bit his lip against further cries, and listened mutely to Elrohir's continued moans as he rose only to resettle against the floor. Erestor guided his hands to Elrohir's hips, and Elladan clutched them as if they were a life preserver, letting his fingers sink thoughtlessly into flesh. Then Erestor was inside of him, pushing into his heat with a swiftness that Elladan loved.

There was no longer any discernable rhythm to the tear drops' dance, no steady arc or circling motion by which to divine the movements of the participants. Elladan no longer paid them any heed. His eyes were closed, and even through the pain he felt the familiar rush of heat -- the instant thrill of Erestor's skilled hand on his cock and of Erestor's thick cock buried in his body.

A shrill cry escaped the barrier of his clenched teeth as Erestor splayed a hand across his chest and pulled him backward with abrupt, controlled ferocity. He heard the matched clack of clips snapping and heard Elrohir's answering cry at the sudden loss. The tear drops fell as their anchors gave way, and Elladan had only the briefest of moments to realize that it had been Elrohir who had been released by Erestor's action before the weights were brought up short. Instinctively he flinched backward. Erestor gasped and pulled him tight against him, and Elladan shuddered as his lover found his release.

"Help Elrohir." He whispered into Elladan's ear, his voice barely quivering in the aftermath of taking his pleasure. Elladan barely managed a mumbled response as he dropped forward onto hands and knees, took Elrohir's length between his lips. The weights hit the floor with a dull thud that reverberated through the chain, and he whimpered around his brother's rigid member. Then Erestor's hand was gripping him once more, stroking him to completion as he sucked and swallowed.

Somehow Elrohir was remaining in position, hands curled behind his back and using only his thigh muscles to raise and lower himself on the object within him. Elladan was beyond noticing or caring. Everything had become too intense and blended into one in a way that he craved, but of which he was afraid as well as desirous. Pleasure and pain had become one, and the cock in his mouth was no different from the one that been sheathed within him. He hollowed his cheeks around the shaft, twirled his tongue around the head, slid, and swallowed, and it seemed to him that he was engaged in some strange act of masturbation. He cried out as he came over Erestor's fingers, and swallowed thoughtlessly a moment later when he felt the first jet of semen at the back of this throat.

*****

There was no actual reason to carry Elladan to bed, but Erestor did so anyway after attending to Elrohir and removing Elladan's clips. He ignored the furious glare cast him by the younger twin, shrugged it aside as an annoyance. Elrohir was upset because he had pushed the envelope, asking more of him than that he remain still, keep his mouth shut, and hold his wrists out for the cuffs. He was even more upset by his own compliance. None of that was Erestor's concern. Perhaps he had thought that after the week they had spent together that he would be relegated to spectator status. It didn't matter. It was ground they had covered ad nauseum, and Elrohir would get over it – or he wouldn't.

He gently kissed Elladan's reddened nipples and licked the wounded flesh. Elladan purred at this treatment and smiled at him sleepy eyed, sweet and soft between crisp sheets and under the light quilt that had replaced the counterpane. Elrohir reclined next to him, head propped on his hand, gazing down at them. Erestor caught a look of tenderness in his eyes in spite of the previous glare; he caught it and returned a smile instead of an archly raised eyebrow. Elrohir's lips tightened for a moment, then relaxed into something that might have been a pale reflection of that smile.

"Better, kitten?" He asked, and Elrohir rolled his eyes at the term of endearment. Elladan snickered.

"Yes, much." He rubbed his shoulders back against the pillows, arching forward toward Erestor. Erestor laughed and reached for the oil on the bed side table.

"You don't need this, you know." Erestor poured the liquid into his palm anyway, and began rubbing Elladan's chest. Elladan sighed happily and shrugged.

"It's a good excuse, though."

Elrohir smirked. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Elladan responded. "On your end those clips were barely attached. I'm entitled."

Erestor ignored their good-natured bickering as he massaged Elladan's muscles. Outwardly nothing was amiss; if anything, matters were running more smoothly than usual. Elrohir wasn't piercing him with ice dagger glares or huddling in a defensive ball. Elladan was relaxed and talkative, favoring them with spontaneous smiles of the warm and lazy variety that went straight to Erestor's heart. Something was amiss, though, even if Elladan and Elrohir were unaware of it.

He had done more and worse to them in the past, to Elladan in particular, but he had never before acted out of anger. There had never been jealousy before -- never that sudden blaze of cold fire that had arisen when Elladan had looked away from him, and turned naturally and without thought toward his brother. Until this night he would have sworn that was something Elladan would never do, that his training had taken too quickly and too well to ever allow such a glaring error.

He had meant to make love to Elladan slowly and gently, with or without Elrohir's participation. It was supposed to have been his welcoming gift, and he'd had that in mind when he'd chosen the white silk shirt with the rows of tiny buttons. That had ended in jealous anger, shocking in its unfounded suddenness. Nothing was happening that he had not foreseen or intended. Nothing was happening that could justify those emotions, and certainly there was no way he could justify his actions to himself in that light. It was not what was done that was wrong, but the spirit in which it had been done. That Elladan and Elrohir did not know that did not make it right.

And what lesson was it that he'd intended to teach? _Watch, Elladan._ He'd said, but what was Elladan supposed to have understood? Erestor didn't know. That he could be subjugated was something Elladan already knew and welcomed. That in spite of his thoughts and misgivings, Elrohir would also bow to Erestor's wishes was similarly known. It would be impossible to teach Elladan disgust for his brother, certainly impossible in this context, and that was not what Erestor wanted anyway. He did not want to see himself reacting to them in fits of pique, hurting Elladan and trying to shame Elrohir for no better reason than to demonstrate that he could do those things and to make the heavy handed point that Elladan was his,but those were the only possible lesson he could find in this.

"Well?" He glanced up at the peremptory tone, and realized that Elladan had been speaking to him. He smiled vaguely, registering the mixed look of hurt, curiosity, nervousness, and hope. "Do you love me, Erestor?"

"You know I do." When had the conversation taken such a serious turn? Elrohir lay against Elladan, his eyes lambent in the candle light. Knowing. Erestor did not know when, but he had an idea as to how the conversation had turned. There was nothing he could do about it.

"Would you let me have you, then? I trust you…"

The question remained between them for a long moment, moveless as Erestor's hands on Elladan's chest. He could dodge the question if he wanted to, shunt it aside quickly and easily so that it would never be asked again. Elladan's words were an echo, though, a series of echoes that rang forward from a day in the garden gazebo when Elrohir had said to him, _you know… he trusts you, trusts you implicitly. That will have to be enough. For now_ And more recently, _Do you ever let your lovers have you? What if he asked you?_ It was Elrohir's question and Elrohir's snare, but it was Elladan's hope. He could deny it, and in different ways prove himself a liar to both of them.

"I can deny you nothing, melethron." He whispered, and bowed his head to kiss Elladan's lips. He tasted sweet darkness and heard his lover's words: _When he's done breaking your heart, I will be here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I was young.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. Another encounter between Erestor and his ex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story could easily be triggering for persons who've experienced mental, emotional, or sexual abuse.

He awoke to the sensation of feather kisses dusted over his cheeks, lips, and chin. Dark brown hair hung forward, obscuring the face of the twin who touched him so gently and carefully. Erestor did not need to see his face to know that it was Elladan, and he did not need to ask why Elrohir was already gone. There was no moment of sleep fogginess during which he did not know what was happening. Elrohir had left them to each other as Erestor had left Elrohir with Elladan. He had given them privacy for this discovery, and though it was a small gesture, it was also quite telling. Lying in his lover's embrace, Erestor knew what it was to be in Elrohir's position, inwardly trembling, and unable to do anything but wonder and wait.

"Good morning, Erestor." Elladan said, breath tickling Erestor's ear. He ran a slender hand through Erestor's hair, spreading it across the pillow. "We thought you would prefer if this was just the two of us."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He had wanted to ask that, but had been unable to ask anything of Elladan in Elrohir's hearing, afraid that a note of pleading might be heard in his voice. It didn't matter; without speaking it had still been heard. Erestor trusted Elladan's empathy, but Elrohir's was another matter.

There was no time to adjust or exert control. He knew he was not meant to do either. Erestor closed his eyes, heart racing. Elladan's touch was caressing; there was none of the gentle or firm dominance in it that characterized the touches he bestowed upon Elladan. The body atop him was as conforming as it was on all the occasions Elladan had lain beneath him, and the lips that parted against the smoothness of his throat were as soft as when they opened submissively under his own.

Elladan, he knew, was not interested in switching roles or taking some manner of ill-perceived revenge. He had asked to have him, and that was the whole of it. To have him, not to take his body or turn the tables in a melodramatic session of anger motivated lust. Erestor had agreed because he could not do otherwise. Time and time again Elladan had allowed him to take his flesh, and now the item demanded in trade was his heart. Erestor supposed that was only right and proper; how else could his young lover go about breaking it?

Elladan moved to one side and traced his hand over Erestor's chest, circling his nipples with a fingertip. His eyes never left Erestor's face, and Erestor kept his eyes steadfastly closed against that soft, tender gaze. Arousal awoke within him as his nipples were captured, each in turn, gently stroked, then lightly pinched. Back and forth Elladan moved between them, leaning forward so that his hair trailed against cream skin. Soft lips locked around needful flesh, and Erestor moaned, hands clenched in the sheets under the duel heat of tantalizing fingers and wet tongue.

His hardened sex twitched against Elladan's thigh, and he frantically wished for the blindfold, for the chains and manacles. He wished it was Elrohir with him, who would be more than happy to allow him the distance of sex made into art, or give him the ecstatic oblivion of the lash, or the freedom of helplessness. Elrohir's demands were simple compared to Elladan's, but then again, it was Elrohir who had put Elladan up to this. He bit at his lower lip, and whimpered in delighted dismay. Nothing was simple, not anymore.

"I love you, Erestor." Elladan whispered, lips ghosting over wet skin and warm breath tightening an already stiff nub yet further. Erestor trembled and returned his words almost soundlessly. Every muscle was tight as a coiled spring, his teeth clenched against further words as Elladan's hand moved lower, exploring the well defined musculature of chest and belly before sliding over his hips and between his thighs. "Please relax, Erestor. Relax and open your eyes."

The two were mutually exclusive, but he did open his eyes. It would not do to stare at the ceiling, and through force of will he met Elladan's gentle, liquid gaze, hissing in a ragged breath as Elladan traced unwanted trails of fire on his inner thighs. It was dizzying to be touched this way, delicious and confusing. He had allowed only the bare few whom he trusted completely to touch him in this way. To give so much of himself with the expectation of loss was alien and unfathomable, and it turned ecstasy into some new blend that he could not identify.

He moaned when Elladan's hand moved upward to cup his balls now tightening behind his throbbing arousal. Though never permitted such free rein before, Elladan knew where and how to touch him. Erestor had taught him all these things himself, and now those carefully taught lessons were becoming his undoing. Tanned skin slid against cream skin as Elladan slipped lower, leaving a slick, translucent path from breast bone to navel, and Erestor was helpless in his loving grasp.

Elladan's hand moved upward, locked around his cock and stroked in that perfect rhythm that he'd mastered long ago. Erestor cried out and bucked his hips forward. Elladan rode the upward motion, and Erestor knew the arch of his back without looking. He felt Elladan stabilize himself with a forearm across his stomach even as his tongue plundered Erestor's navel. Tendrils of silken hair swept his sides, and Elladan's chin barely brushed the head of his cock. Then Elladan finally moved lower still to lap, cat-like, at its purpled head.

He heard the sound of the oil bottle being unstopped as if from a great distance and wondered if Elladan had ever taken Elrohir as Elrohir had surely taken him. It didn't matter. All that mattered were the warm, slick fingers delving between his thighs, and the way he spread his thighs without prompting against the panicked shrieking in his mind that was spiraling steadily downward into black silence. Elladan's tongue slid over the length of his rigid sex as his fingertip stroked against his entrance then pressed, gently and carefully, as if he were a virgin. He whispered soft words to him as if it were this act itself and alone that Erestor feared, then swallowed and penetrated him in perfect synchronicity.

It had been a long time, but Erestor knew to relax, and Elladan was as careful with him as if he were made of porcelain. There was a moment of discomfort, and then even that was gone as the single digit made its slow, smooth way into his inner darkness. He shuddered against the mattress, bending his knees to grant better, deeper access, and angled his hips. His lips formed a silent plea as a second finger was added, slyly moved in search of that hidden spot that would make him lose control.

Thought vanished along with all hope of distancing, separation. Caught between mouth and hand he wavered on the outer edges of ecstatic mindlessness, twisted in the dizzying contradictions of love, panic, lust, and dismay. It was like the heat of other lovers he had felt within him yet different because this was Elladan, who would unknowingly taking more than he would give, and innocently make him pant and writhe in a way that could be mistaken for pain, and be blameless in his tender shattering of him.

Elladan removed his fingers with gentle care, and Erestor felt hollow in their absence, needing and wanting on more levels than he was capable of thinking of. The word formed by Elladan's lips was "butterfly," and Erestor moved in imitation of that word, knees bent, pulled back, spread. Again there was heat -- this time the heat of Elladan's body poised between his thighs, and the rigid heat of his cock pressed against his exposed entrance. A trembling moan was wrenched from him as his body was breached, and his hands flew to pull Elladan forward into immediate and complete penetration.

There was no defense save for surrender and complete immersion in the striving toward completion. Elladan allowed him that defense, locking an oil slick hand around Erestor's length, and letting Erestor set the nearly violent pace. There was no teasing or demands, no subtly humiliating requests to hear him beg or make him ask for release. Instead there was a kaleidoscope of pleasure, Elladan's hand granting him primary colored ecstasy and Elladan's cock turning those colors into lightening shot rapture with each inward thrust. When completion came, it came as a storm of silent white fire that turned him into something that seemed made only to experience pleasure. He shuddered as Elladan spent his seed within him, and let his eyes flutter closed when Elladan collapsed on top of him. Elladan's breath was hot against his ear, his sweat slicked body limp, and his cock softening. Erestor shifted under his weight, stomach trembling, and Elladan whispered a faint apology as he pulled carefully out of him and slid to one side, one arm draped over Erestor's chest.

"That was…" Elladan tapped his upper lip with his tongue. "I have never… Erestor, thank you." His voice was thick with the physical memory of bliss and with emotion. Erestor's lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead he lightly kissed the high plain of Elladan's cheek. Tasted salt. "Did you… I mean, was it?" Elladan propped himself up on his elbow and glanced down worriedly into Erestor's face. The older elf opened his eyes and smiled wanly.

"Yes, Elladan, it definitely was."

*****

Afternoon sun streamed through the high, vaulted study windows. Erestor sat at his desk painstakingly copying one of the older history books, the clean parchment set neatly in an oblong of golden light. The old book's print had grown faint, the illuminations murky, and the pages ruinously thin. It had been over an age since he'd earned his keep as a scrivener, but Erestor prided himself on his even, artistic calligraphy, and his talent for utilizing the colored inks, paints, small brushes, and specialized quills needed for the illumination work. There were few who had both arts mastered, and it was a restful hobby that he frequently turned to when his thoughts were troubled. It would take hours to complete a single page, months to complete the volume. Plenty of time for contemplation, consideration, decision making.

He paused, studied the page with a critical eye before continuing. The work was going well, but he could not settle into the meditative state he was accustomed to finding. Much to his chagrin, Glorfindel had noticed his distracted condition at breakfast and had invited him out for a ride by the river and maybe supper later in the evening. The words had rolled smoothly enough, impeccably phrased and utterly decorous. There had been nothing decorous about the look in Glorfindel's sky blue eyes, however. Erestor had offered him a frosty smile, and refused the invitation with equally diplomatic politeness. More involvements were the last thing he needed.

He hadn't wanted to spend his day reading in his chambers, and he hadn't wanted to settle in the library where he could count on Elrond or Celebrian to find him and attempt to cheer him out of his mood. It was rare for him to spend a weekend day in the office of his own accord, and the office door had a lock. It was the perfect place to hide while Elrohir and Elladan worked off the last of their father's displeasure in the stables.

Sighing, he wiped the quill tip on a bit of paper, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. Blotted out the view of Elrohir's desk opposite his own, and turned the office into rose colored darkness. He felt sore, but he did not shift to make himself more comfortable as he sat perusing the inside of his eyelids. It was a remembered ache as much as an actual sensation, and one that he did not want to escape even though the discomfort was more than physical. With an effort of will he could imagine other eyes gazing into his own, a sweep of hair both finer and longer than Elladan's, and fingers uncallused by use of bow and sword. Uncomplicated constancy idiotically traded.

A soft tap at the door cut through the silence, and Erestor's eyes flashed open, his hands tightened on the arms of the chair. A pause, and then a faint jingle. He drew a harsh breath as a key snicked into the lock. Only one person would let himself in without waiting for a response; only one person besides himself, Elrond, and Elrohir had a key with which to do so.

"I didn't think you'd be doing anything I shouldn't walk in on." He slipped a necklace chain about his neck and absently tucked the key back beneath his robes. Erestor smiled in spite of himself. Ever pragmatic, his lover wore no charm or token, no pretty gem stone or carved bauble even though Erestor had given him such things at the beginning of their relationship before he had known better. Instead he carried what mattered – keys to Erestor's study and chambers.

"I merely wanted privacy." The words sounded off putting, but Erestor said nothing more, refusing to babble in an attempt to find the right words. His guest nodded equably as he approached the desk.

"Your hand is better than mine." He commented, glancing at the parchment. "Fanciful yet clearly legible. I've never been able to claim more than uninspired consistency."

"There is a great deal to be said for consistency."

The elf sighed softly and looked down at his hands. "How much longer, Erestor?"

"I don't know. Right now… it would break Elladan's heart."

"And what of mine? No, don't answer that." A bitter smile curved his lips. His gaze shifted to the desk Erestor had closed his eyes against. "I always did like Elrohir better."

"Elrohir will bring this to an end. Sooner rather than later, I think." 

"All according to plan. In some regards, at least." His eyes remained on the uncluttered desk top and the empty chair. "Shall I sit there where he sits? Will I become a little more real for you then, as susceptible to your games as your pretty toys?"

He moved as if to suit his actions to his words, and Erestor flinched. "No, don't. Please."

"Please?" He raised an eyebrow, turned, and perched on the edge of the desk rather than going to the chair. "But I thought that was what you wanted to hear me say. Perhaps, underneath it all you're only wanting to see how low I'll sink." The mask of imperturbable calm was slipping; unshed tears stood in eyes that held his gaze through force of will alone.

"No." Erestor managed. He rose, crossed the room, and tentatively reached to grasp his lover's arms. For a moment it seemed that the other elf would shrug away from the touch, but with a last hesitant shiver he allowed the contact, eyes fixed on Erestor's chest.

"It was a mistake. Had I to do this over, I would not repeat my actions, melme." Erestor said. 

"Don't call me that."

Erestor froze, his hands briefly tightening on silk covered arms. "Don't do this to me. I need you."

Dark eyes fixed incredulously on his; a thin stream of hurt laughter fell from soft lips. "Don't do this to you? You want my comfort?"

"Dammit, I don't know what to do!" He let his hands drop, and turned to glare at the cream colored wall. "I have to be so careful of them, and I love him, and I love you." He stared tiredly at the floor. "I want this to be over. I want you back."

"Careful of them." His lover said tightly. He drew his legs up to sit cross legged on the desk top, elbows on knees, chin resting on his palms. In the golden light he looked very young himself -- almost an elfling dressed up in his father's robes. Only the bitterness in his eyes gave lie to the image. "How so, careful of them?"

"Elladan is so free with his heart, and Elrohir is so suspicious, so…" Erestor considered, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. "Insecure. I can't crush Elladan, I have to be so careful in treating them equally, in making certain that Elrohir does not feel like a third, like something that can be picked up and then cast aside at will."

"Well, he is the third, isn't he? And you aren't in love with him." There was more than a hint of asperity in his melodic voice. Erestor took a deep breath.

"I don't want to hurt him."

"How noble of you." He sat upright and pulled his hands into his sleeves. "He doesn't love you, either, but I suppose if you continue this farce that could change. Is that what you want?"

"No! I merely do not want to make one feel less than the other, less wanted, less…"

"Oh, for the love of the Valar, Erestor! They have a father, you know. There is no need for you to play at being daddy as well as lover."

"How can you be so cold?"

He registered the slap as heat, a sudden warmth and force that rocked his head back and did not blaze into burning until his shocked eyes again met those of the elf before him. His lover was standing, his movement from the desk so sudden that Erestor had barely recognized the action. His face was livid, eyes wide with hurt anger. Erestor's hand drifted upward to touch the red mark glowing on his skin like a brand.

"Listen to yourself!" There was no apology in his tone. He started to speak further then stopped himself, turning away. "No, Erestor, I have nothing more to say to this. You need to make up your mind."

"Wait." The word was faint, brittle. It settled between them like a hollow husk briefly suspended by a capricious breeze before drifting inexorably down.

"I have been."

He let himself out with no further words, not bothering to re-lock the door behind him. Erestor stared at the blank oak, seeing nothing and hearing nothing. The ability to think had temporarily fled, leaving him with nothing more than the bland smoothness of varnished wood to occupy his mind. At last he tore his eyes away. Open bottles of ink still waited for him at his desk, and he began putting them away in silent slow motion, like an elf in a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep wondering if you'd call this unnamed character an ex ex machina? Yeah, well, it's late.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan and Erestor find themselves separately miserable; Elrohir tries to deal with both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work could be triggering to people who've experienced mental, emotional, or sexual abuse.

It had been a tiring day, made all the more irritating by the monotony of the work assigned to them. Elrohir had known how to care for his own horses almost since he'd been old enough to ride, but cleaning their stalls was not one of his regular duties. Certainly it wasn't his job to do the work of the stable hands for an entire day. Even so, he did not completely object to the hard, manual labor that had swallowed his day. It helped him to maintain his resentments and kept his focus on the retribution he felt he deserved.

The next day would be free, and after that Elladan would spend a week confined to the immediate vicinity inasmuch as his duties allowed. Then Erestor would be leaving with Elrond and Glorfindel, off to Lothlorien for at least a month, and Elrohir expected that all manner of things would change during that time. The smile that surfaced as he thought of that was not entirely pleasant.

Elladan had not seemed put out by their day of work. On the contrary, Elladan had put his back into it with distracted amiability, chattering incessantly and occasionally whistling a tune that Elrohir had heard sung by several other soldiers. Elrohir knew the cause of his good mood well enough; he had made appropriate excuses for him at the breakfast table that had not included mention of intimate relations with their father's chief advisor. Elrond had accepted those excuses, and Elrohir had felt more than a tickle of dismay at the ease with which he could deceive his father.

In small ways they had both lied before, small, usually ill conceived deceptions designed to get them out of (or into) trouble. Still, it had used to seem to Elrohir that Elrond and Celebrian were oddly all-knowing, not in the mystical way of their grandmother, but through the simple, pedestrian telepathy that most adults seemed to possess in regard to elflings. It was annoying and comforting, something to be tested but also something to feel safe in -- a sort of invisible safety net that was always there.

During the last years of their protracted elven adolescence, Elrohir had believed that the time for those little lies and tests were behind them, and that they were entering into an adulthood of responsibility and truthfulness that would allow them the freedom they had sought blunderingly as elflings. They could have respect and privileges instead of treats and cuddles; they would exist on that same, moveless plane their parents lived on. Childhood had not ended with a definitive putting away of toys and story books, but Elrohir had felt as if adulthood might be attained that way -- that on his fiftieth name day he had achieved something intangible yet real. He could see that thing in his father's eyes, and thought that perhaps he'd attained that adult telepathy for himself.

Now it seemed that adults operated in the dark as much as elflings, that small lies had merely been traded for larger ones, and that Elrond could not see his thoughts as easily as he might see sunlight through window glass. The difference between elflings and elves, Elrohir thought, was that no one was there to sort matters out for elves when situations went from bad to worse. No one advised unless asked for advice. He stopped to consider that Erestor was his father's advisor and shuddered at the thought.

There could be… ramifications. The word "criminal" danced in Elrohir's mind, barely seen, and surfacing sporadically like a bit of bark tossed upon ocean waves. He supposed that what he was doing with Erestor was unethical, but not actually a crime. What he was doing with his brother was another matter. And what of the payment he was demanding of Erestor for it? Was that not criminal in its own way, this insistence on an apology made in figurative blood? He would never be brought before any law court for it, but Elrohir could well imagine what his father would say. He tried not to think about that, or to envision the look Elrond would give him. Not even the possibility of words spoken was as frightening as the expression he knew he would see. It would not be the look of a disappointed father confronting a wayward son, but that of an elf staring at something foreign and unrecognizable.

"I'm no better than he is." Elrohir said flatly to the empty room as he levered himself out of his bath. The scent of horse, straw, hay, and manure was gone, but he still felt dirty. Perhaps that was something else about being an adult that wasn't mentioned alongside talk of responsibility and privileges earned. Perhaps with making one's own decisions and taking one's own course came the obligation to walk in one's own cloud of stench and filth. He knew a great deal of the history of his family, and he was far from the first of his line to live with thoughts and deeds that made reverie come slowly and uneasily at night. He was not even one of the worst offenders. It was not something he would ask his father about.

_Too late for choices._ An oddly gentle voice spoke in his mind, and Elrohir grimaced. It was what he'd told himself from the beginning, since the time when making a different choice actually had been possible. He didn't believe that voice anymore; it was the siren call of his darker nature. Even so, he thought he could understand Elladan a little better, and could see why his brother was so inclined to let personal matters roll over and around him with so little resistance.

Someone tapped on the door, and Elrohir sighed, shrugging quickly into a bathrobe before hurrying back to the bed chamber.

"Enter."

"Elrohir?" Elladan opened the door barely far enough to let himself in and closed it behind him. His hair hung forward, and when he looked up to meet Elrohir's gaze, Elrohir saw that his eyes were reddened as if he'd been crying.

"Oh, Elladan, what is wrong?" Elrohir felt his own heart surge at the sight of Elladan's misery in a sharing of feeling that had always been between them but had strengthened in the past weeks. Elladan moved toward him, reaching instinctively, and Elrohir folded him into his embrace unmindful of his wet robe and dripping hair.

"I don't know." Elladan said dully, head resting on his brother's shoulder. "Erestor… Everything was so wonderful this morning." His voice thickened as if he would sob. Elrohir tightened his grip, and Elladan took a deep breath and shuddered against him.

"What did Erestor say to you?" The words came out cold and flat.

"Nothing… nothing really. Just that something had come up, that we… that I… could not be with him tonight. I would not be bothered except for that I know it is not true."

"How do you know, Elladan?"

"I just do."

Elrohir did not doubt him. If either of them could be said to have a touch of their grandmother's ability, it was Elladan. He was the one person who really could see the truth when he wished to, and now it seemed that he'd seen more than he'd wanted to see.

"Elladan, stay here."

"Where are you going?"

"To see Erestor." He pushed Elladan down gently on the bed, tossed his robe aside, and darted into the bath to grab a towel. Elladan stared wide-eyed as his brother briskly dried himself and wrung out his hair with atypical ferocity.

"You cannot!"

"I can, and I will." He jerked open the wardrobe door, pulled out a pair of leggings and a tunic without bothering to look at them. Once dressed he dragged a comb cursorily through his hair, smoothing the surface only. "Stay here."

"Elrohir!"

But Elrohir was already leaving, the door nearly slamming shut on his brother's final entreaty.

*****

He jerked on the handle to Erestor's door, only dimly surprised that it was unlocked. In his mind he had envisioned himself wrenching it, beating on the solid oak with his fist, ripping the door from its hinges if necessary. That Erestor could have reduced Elladan to tears in this way was unthinkable, unimaginable, and unforgivable. It made the dark thoughts of his own transgressions seem like nothing more than self pitying babble -- the weeping of a child who has cut himself on a shiny, new toy.

The unlocked door allowed him to proceed with unslowed momentum, but he was utterly unprepared for what he found. Erestor sat huddled in the center of his libertine's bed, legs folded, head in hands, sobbing like a child. Elrohir came to an abrupt halt and jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut behind him.

"Erestor…"

"Damn you." There was no force behind the words. "Are you satisfied now?" Erestor looked up, black sloe eyes wet and limpid, glaring. "He went to you, of course: his elf knight. Because I hurt him. But it is really you who has hurt him, now isn't it?"

"I don't know what you are talking about." He'd been thrown off track, but he felt his anger re-emerging again as he was faced by the advisor's mixed sorrow and fury. "I know he has spent his day in bliss, and he came to me tonight in tears. Have you broken that trust that we spoke of, Erestor? Did you send him away?"

"I can't do this, Elrohir." Erestor stared down at his hands, swallowed hard.

"You don't love him."

"I did not say that. I just… can't." He sighed heavily. "Has it not occurred to you that there is more here than your ill used feelings?"

"Oh, yes, it has. There are also Elladan's."

"You two were meant for each other, made for one another." There was no spite or venom in the words, only a sort of dull flatness. "I thought I understood that."

"You talk in riddles."

"Because you would not listen to the unvarnished truth." He took a deep breath and looked up to meet Elrohir's eyes. "Have pity, Elrohir. You think you are hurting me by forcing this closeness and rubbing my face in what can only be a loss. But Elladan is talking of bonding, and you are hurting him, too. Or is that also what you want?"

Elrohir stared, opening his mouth and then closing it. Erestor smirked and wiped the back of his hand across his damp cheeks.

"And everyone mistakes you for the intelligent, wise one. I can live with the loss, elf knight. I'm sure your brother can, too. But he shouldn't have to deal with it at all. Do you understand?"

"You have caused this."

"Yes, yes I have." The dark eyes glinted brightly, now steel edged instead of tear rimmed. "I'll admit my error. But now… leave it alone, Elrohir. Please. For your brother's sake."

"Alright." He said softly, turned on his heel. "I guess I don't need to demand anything of you. It seems to me that you're getting what you deserve without any effort on my part."


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The triad relationship begins breaking down; Elladan and Elrohir talk.

No one had said "Thorn," but the games that had previously been played in Erestor's chambers had ceased. The three of them had stumbled along, meeting in Erestor's wide bed, tangling limbs and joining bodies out of familiarity and in unnamed desperation. There was confusion in Elladan's eyes that went unspoken and largely ignored. Elrohir's held a mix of tightly reined anger and a certain, peculiar tenderness. Erestor's had grown distant, shuttered, and cold as they had been when Elrohir had first seen him as someone other than his tutor and his father's friend.

There were no lack of tender words or affectionate endearments, and no withholding of physical intimacy when Erestor was with them. Elrohir even managed to stifle his own outrage and fury when the chief advisor touched him, kissed him, and pushed him back into the softness of linen sheets and the strength of his brother's arms. He had agreed to let it lie, so he closed his eyes and let his imaginings drift when passion overtook him at Erestor's hands, and he murmured back gentle lies when called upon to do so.

What had changed was that Erestor was not always present. More and more often he made his excuses and left them alone with each other. It was a gentle pushing away and pushing together, but it was a push nevertheless. He said nothing about their continued use of his room even when he was not in it. They came to it out of habit while Erestor was elsewhere, and Erestor did not ask them to leave when he returned. Elrohir reflected that over the course of the week he had made love with Elladan nightly, several times nightly on some occasions, yet they had only been graced with Erestor's company three times.

Now Elrohir lay with Elladan curled up at his side under linen sheets that held Erestor's scent like a ghost meshed in the threads. A pair of candles burned on the nightstand, their flames dancing in the gentle breeze, and casting shifting shades of oranges and reds over Elladan's face. The confusion was still there in Elladan's dark eyes that were nearly black as Erestor's in the dim lighting, but it was softened, whether by their lovemaking or by tricks of the candle light Elrohir could not tell. 

"I love having you here – anywhere – like this." Elrohir whispered into Elladan's hair. It was an admission that did not come easily, and was harder to make than the murmured endearments and avowals of love. Those were familiar words echoing in a new chamber, but this was more than that. It was both consent to and acceptance of what they were doing and had become to each other. It also was the truth. No lies through teeth gritted in either anger or passion here, and Elrohir felt strangely comfortable in that.

"Me, too." Elladan said back. He stared lazily into the candle flame, and turned to rest his cheek on his brother's shoulder. "I miss him." He tried for a nonchalant tone, but didn't quite achieve it. "I miss the things we used to do together."

Elrohir nodded, tightening his hold. Of course there were no more nights spent on their knees, and no more games of dominance and submission. That demanded a level of trust and commitment that Erestor was no longer willing, or perhaps able, to give. Elrohir considered, and chose his words carefully.

"What do you miss most, sweet one?" He intentionally used Erestor's expression. "Do you miss Erestor, here with us, now that he is busy planning his trip? Or the things he did with you and to you?" He kept his tone light and inoffensive, and gently kissed Elladan's hair.

"I don't know. It is just that he is so much older than we are, and wiser. He made me feel safe, Elrohir."

_Wiser._ Elrohir restrained a smirk.

"Do I make you feel safe?"

"Yes." Spoken softly, shadowed words slipping into shadows. They lay still and silent for several long moments, taking comfort in each other's embrace.

"He will be gone for a long time, lirimaer. Will I be enough for you?"

"Oh, Elrohir." Elladan pushed himself up on his elbow and stared down at Elrohir. His hair fell in straight, silken sheaves at either side of Elrohir's face, but Elladan needed no light to see the face that was as familiar to him as his own. "It has never been a question of not enough. Just… do not try to be him for me. I love you, and" his eyes briefly darkened, "if you will love me you can always have me. All of me."

Elrohir reached up to pull him close, and buried his face in Elladan's neck. It amazed him that Elladan could make such a free offer in light of this slow, unexplained separation. He would have expected shyness and a withdrawal of emotion, not this readiness to once again throw himself into the gap. Granted, Erestor had spoken no words of parting beyond references to his physical leaving on the morrow, but Elladan was not one to deny what he saw.

"Why, Elrohir?" His breath was hot against Elrohir's ear, his voice strained, plaintive. "Do you know? I have never wanted to know what is between you and Erestor, but now…"

"I don't know, Elladan. I think maybe he is frightened." He did think that, and could think of no other reason for the change, or for Erestor's tears on the night after Elladan had made love to him. "I don't know why, though."

"Frightened?" Elladan rolled over onto his side and bit back a bitter laughter. Elrohir winced. It was not a sound he wanted to hear and not something he wished to see in his innocent, sunshine and stars brother. "As if I have not been, and did not go on anyway, in trust?"

"You truly are fearless, brother." Elrohir said, and pressed a finger to Elladan's lips in response to his out rush of frustrated breath. "You would go on and on, and never mind the fall, never mind the rushing waters and sharp rocks at the bottom. As you say, he is older, and maybe in part he is wiser."

"How so, in this?"

"He gave you what you wanted, and he knew that your heart would change."

"I have not changed!" Elladan said fiercely, pulling away, but Elrohir followed him.

"Haven't you? You cannot even say what exactly it is that you miss." He stared into his brother's face, abruptly grateful for the cloaking shadows. "What is different is me, that we are closer to each other than any other could be to either of us, and he knew that would happen. I cannot comprehend why he would have wanted to bring us together this way, but now that the deed is done – tell me, Elladan, if you can, is there so much room for anyone else?"

"I won't answer that. I won't… I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't break his heart!" Elladan hissed. He twisted away from Elrohir and turned his back to him. Gentle fingers traced the hard curves of muscles and danced over his skin. There was no eroticism in it, but only comfort, and against his will Elladan relaxed into the touch.

"It is not unexpected, melethron. I know that."

"We will always have each other. There is no one for him." Elladan said.

"So you will sacrifice your life to that? To his happiness? What about your own, Elladan? And does it seem to you that he is happy, now? That any of us are?"

"No." The word came out harshly. "So, it is up to me."

"You could simply let matters run their course. It will be slower, but I think the results will be the same." He sighed, touched Elladan's hair. "And we have at least a month."

"Yes. Tomorrow he's leaving. You don't know him like I do, Elrohir." He said, again moving back to his brother's side. "He's hurting."

_He deserves it._ Elrohir thought fiercely, but then found himself assailed by doubts. He didn't know Erestor's motives, and the older elf had never given him any. He'd never volunteered anything and never responded to questioning, heated or otherwise. The pain Elrohir had seen in him was real enough, though; and could pain like that result from nothing more than tricks and manipulation? Were bad choices made with good intentions – or at least without malicious intent - the same as willfully choosing harm? Did it matter if the end was the same? It seemed to Elrohir that maybe Elladan was right in his insistence on the irrelevancy of motive, though not in the way that he had explained it to him. Motivation did not matter if one had to pay the price for actions rather than thoughts. If Erestor had been obedient to the dictates of ethics, though, none of them would be trying to solve this conundrum. 

"He said he would always love me. I believe him."

"I do, too. But there are many different kinds of love."

"You really believe it?" Elrohir could sense the quizzical expression on Elladan's face. "I never thought you did."

"It took me a while, I'll grant you." He sighed. "What was I supposed to think, Elladan? What it looked like to me was that he was taking advantage of you, using you for his own perverse pleasure, and that for some strange reason you were feeding into it. Now I believe it. I don't think he always loved you, but I think he does now, enough to want what's best for you."

"I love the way you people think around me." His voice carried a tinge of sarcasm. "Poor Elladan can't take care of himself; everyone around him must determine what's for his good."

"That's not what I meant, Elladan. Only that he loves you enough to let you go if that's what you need."

"Maybe I don't want to let go."

Elrohir could sense the truth in that; it was not so different from his own reflections of the previous weekend. Elrohir had bewailed his coming of age, realizing that in some situations, adulthood meant having no one to turn to. Elladan had simply slid from childhood into the arms of a lover who would allow him to continue to be an elfling -- one with whom he could remain an adolescent straining at invisible boundaries, and who would be his safety net. It couldn't have lasted under any circumstances.

"Well, wait and see."

"There isn't much else to do, is there?"

Elrohir bit back a sharp, frustrated response. Apparently Elladan meant to ride out these waves and follow the stream's course to the inevitable falls. He had complained that matters were being left to him, but that was not really the case. No, it was Elrohir and Erestor who had been left in charge of steering his course, and as much as Elrohir found this aggravating, he knew he would not leave his brother to sink or swim alone.

"I suppose not, lirimaer."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor leaves; Elrohir has a rough day at the office, and he and Elladan have sex.

It felt strange to be sitting at Erestor's desk, and to see Erestor's secretary sitting at his. Not only did it feel strange, but it also felt foolish. Melpomaen had been Erestor's secretary for the past fifty years, and could probably handle most of the details of the chief advisor's job as well as Erestor himself did. Three times he'd had to ask for help, and Melpomaen had given his assistance without untoward comment, but Elrohir thought he'd seen a certain sardonic amusement in the secretary's dark eyes.

Elrohir would have infinitely preferred to have remained at his own desk as Melpomaen's secretary. Both his father and Erestor, however, had felt that he should have an opportunity to try his skills, and though he would have argued with Erestor, he would not debate the issue with his father. He felt like a fraud and an interloper seated in the leather upholstered chair that was not his, and though his desk had previously been Melpomaen's it felt wrong to be viewing the dark haired elf from this new and unasked for angle. Elrohir had been learning the politics of Imladris for a little less than two years; Melpomaen had begun his training a century ago.

Erestor had not seemed concerned that morning before he'd left. Dawn had not yet broken when he'd awakened. Elrohir had feigned sleep while Erestor had made love to Elladan one final time, though he knew that neither of them were fooled. It had felt peculiar to be present during their lovemaking as neither spectator nor participant -- uncomfortable and unsettling. There was sufficient room in the wide bed for them to have danced their lingering intimacies out of his reach, but he and Elladan always fell into reverie curled against each other's bodies, and the two lovers had not seen fit to move. Elrohir had stared into the darkness listening to the soft cries and feeling the gentle movements against him, and had strained to hear though the proximity had made such straining unnecessary. He did not think it was the sounds of carnal rapture that he had, in truth, been trying to discern.

Together they'd gone to bathe and dress, and then Elladan had departed for the barracks, leaving Elrohir alone with Erestor. A faint smile had played about Erestor's lips when he'd returned to the bedchamber and found Elrohir sitting upright in bed with the blankets pooled in his lap. If he had been Elladan, Erestor would have told him he looked like a tousled kitten waking from a nap. He was not Elladan, however, and instead of offering pretty words, Erestor had sat down on the edge of the mattress and offered him a fond look.

"Thank you, Elrohir."

It had been too early for witty repartee and arguments. Elrohir had merely sat there staring at Erestor, looking bruised in the early half light.

"I'm sorry." He'd finally whispered, and Erestor had glanced away.

"So am I." His expression had been sad, distant. "We live and learn, do we not?"

It had crossed Elrohir's mind to ask if he offered such sage pieces of wisdom during council sessions, but he'd bit back the sarcastic comment. "I suppose we do."

Erestor had opened his arms then, and though there had been no necessity to make any pretences Elrohir had gone to him, slipped his arms about him, and hugged him tightly. The dark fabric of Erestor's travel clothes had felt rough against his bare skin and unexpectedly rugged. For a dismayed moment Elrohir had thought he would dampen the shoulder of the adviser's tunic with tears.

"You're going to be alright, Elrohir. You and your brother both. You know what you need to do?"

He'd nodded, still holding on, and in the end it was Erestor who'd had to extricate himself from the embrace.

"And you don't really mind, do you?"

"No." It hadn't been a lie. He was not being asked to seduce Elladan; they had both been seduced quite neatly, quite efficiently already. It was the weaning away of Elladan's heart that was essential now, and filling the gap Erestor was leaving. That would be easy, too, Elrohir knew. It was knowledge both wanted and unwanted, desirable and frightening; that knowing was the cause of gratitude and ferocious anger.

Erestor had made no mention of Elrohir's ostensible take over of his duties, whether because he had no doubts in that area or because it had not been uppermost in his mind, Elrohir did not know. Certainly the three of them had been more involved in their own concerns lately than in any of the business of Imladris.

"Melpomaen, I have no idea what to do with this." There was more than a hint of frustration in his voice, and he felt like cringing in his chair as the other elf rose and glided silently over to look at the papers in front of him.

"This," Melpomaen said dryly, tossing him another sardonic glance, "is out of your sphere of involvement. File it for Lord Elrond."

"They're going to want a reply soon." It was a request concerning land and building from the human citizenry; they'd apparently gotten together to work out a plan and make a petition. One of the draw backs to welcoming races besides elves into the haven of Imladris was the increasing population rate of the humans which led inevitably to the need for more housing.

"That doesn't matter." Melpomaen cocked an eyebrow. "Do you have the authority to grant land, call the council to make design plans, and send out work crews? No?"

Elrohir muttered and glanced down at his hands.

"No. So you write them a letter explaining the situation and file this for Elrond. Or more appropriately, you have me write the letter and file the petition for Elrond." He extended his hand and waited patiently, face impassive. Elrohir sighed and gave him the documents.

"Thank you, Melpomaen."

"It's what I'm here for."

Elrohir stared glumly at Melpomaen's silk covered back as he returned to his desk, and wished sincerely that it wasn't what he was there for. A single day had not yet passed, and he found himself wishing that Erestor hadn't left.

*****

"I have had an awful day." Elrohir muttered as he paced. "I had no idea how many things Erestor typically takes care of, I hate delegating, and I think Melpomaen hates me."

"Why do you think he hates you?" Elladan asked. He leaned back against the headboard and reached for the plate of pastries on the night stand. "Want one?"

"No, thanks." Elrohir sighed, and finally dropped down onto the mattress. "It's just his manner. He very politely and in no way that I could reasonably complain of treats me like the village idiot."

"Well, maybe he has something there."

Elrohir scowled at his brother, who returned the look with a broad grin. "Oh, come now, Elrohir. This was your first day. And also, I think everyone was out of sorts today. I asked Lindir if he'd like to sing tonight after dinner, and you'd swear I'd asked him if he'd like to go to Bree to dance naked at the largest tavern."

Elrohir laughed. "Now that's a sight I wouldn't mind seeing."

"Ah, but I daresay we'll have to make do with only our imaginations on that score. I do wonder what got into him, though. He's usually so even tempered."

"Well, with half the staff riding out to what Erestor calls "Galadriel's Tea Party" I think everyone is feeling odd."

"Do you think Thranduil will show?"

Elrohir snorted. "No way. He'll send someone in his place as he always does. Probably his son since he can't well get away with sending only an official emissary . If father hadn't gone he could have…"

"But father couldn't get away with that unless he wanted to be on mother's bad side for the next season cycle."

"Exactly." Elrohir shook his head. "I think they're all quite mad."

"I might have something to take your mind off of your day." Elladan smiled wickedly, and Elrohir closed his eyes and flopped back on the mattress. He was tired and frustrated, and certainly not in the right frame of mind to treat Elladan as he deserved.

"Dear brother, I do not wish to use you as stress relief."

He did not see the frown that briefly marred Elladan's expression -- the drawing together of brows and slight downward curve of full lips.

"You don't have to do anything, Elrohir." Elladan scooted down to sit beside his brother's supine body. "Sometimes Erestor…" He bit his lip, and let the words abruptly drop.

"Sometimes Erestor what?" Elrohir's eyes flashed open,

"Nothing. Just sometimes he has rough days also."

Elladan bowed his head, and pressed his lips gently and then with more fervor to Elrohir's. It was a tender assault, but an assault nonetheless -- one meant to drive away thought and reason. His lips moved from lips to chin to jaw line, and skated in a perfect trail of delight upward to his brother's sensitive ears, and Elrohir was lost. Whatever Elladan had begun to say about Erestor was also lost, unspoken and temporarily forgotten.

Elrohir did not protest when he was pulled up and back to lie more fully on Elladan's narrower bed. He reached for Elladan, but his hands were batted teasingly away until he finally surrendered, laid back on the coverlet, and allowed himself to be undressed, kissed, licked, and touched. His brother had said he needn't do anything, and he was as good as his word. Elrohir shivered and trembled under Elladan's touch, writhing and rolling his hips in wordless pleading.

He wondered if Elladan would have him as he had so often been had. Elrohir watched, breath coming in ragged gasps as his brother removed a bottle of massage oil from the night stand drawer. He parted his thighs expectantly as Elladan poured a generous amount into his palm, but instead of delving between his rounded cheeks he took Elrohir's cock in his slick grip. Elrohir's eyes rolled back and his lips parted as he thrust upward, moaning thickly as he was milked by a hand that had become a velvet vise.

All too soon the delicious sensation ended. His vision returned to focus as Elladan lifted himself and parted his thighs over his brother's body. More oil was poured, and Elrohir stared in lustful shock as Elladan slid slick fingers along his own crevice and held himself open with one hand while stroking oiled finger tips over his small, tight entrance. His eyes never left Elrohir's as he slipped his index finger in tiny, teasing circles, never looking away as he eased that finger inside of himself.

Elrohir gasped, unaware that he had been holding his breath until that moment. Elladan had shifted position, and was now genuflecting over Elrohir's body to provide a better view. One finger had been replaced by two, moving more swiftly now, and Elrohir could see from the angle of his brother's hand, and the movement of tendons and muscles in his hand and wrist, that he was crooking those fingers, searching out his inner sweet spot and then stroking it with shameless desire. Elrohir's gaze darted helplessly between Elladan's face and the hand between his legs, to the opening now glistening with clear oil and the two fingers scissoring within it.

The expression on his brother's face was not intentionally seductive. Elladan's expression reflected only the bliss of what he felt, sensation translated into half closed eyes and parted lips with no hint of shame. It was that as much as the sight of Elladan touching himself that brought a rush of pure desire through Elrohir's blood, and that made his cock quiver in eager expectation. Elladan keened softly, his jaw tightening and sound ululating from behind even, white teeth as his eyes glazed with passion. It was more than Elrohir could stand. He reached, touched his brother's hips and was immediately rewarded.

Both knees sunk in the mattress at either side of Elrohir's body, and he cried out as Elladan took his cock in hand and held it as he settled down upon it. Elladan relaxed and opened for him, taking his length inside of himself without pause or hesitation, and Elrohir shuddered and nearly screamed with rapture as he was enveloped in that hot, oiled sheathe.

Again he reached for Elladan, and again Elladan knocked his hand away. He rose and fell as easily and gracefully as an ocean wave, lifting and lowering himself with steel muscled thighs. The fingers of his left hand splayed lightly on Elrohir's chest in a small concession to balance while he stroked his own cock with his free hand, pumping swiftly and surely toward completion. Elrohir could only writhe and raise his hips, thrusting upward in time with his brother's movements until, with a strangled cry, Elladan found his release. Hot fluid jetted over Elrohir's abdomen, and muscles contracted spasmodically around his engorged member. Time stood still, and then Elrohir too was spiraling over the edge.

And even afterwards Elrohir did not have to do anything. He laid back against the pillows, gasping harshly for breath as Elladan vanished into the bath and returned a few moments later with a basin of water and some towels. He had already cleaned himself, and now he set about cleaning Elrohir up as well, head bowed, face concealed by the straight veil of his dark hair. Still trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm, a dark thought crept into Elrohir's mind. _Erestor trained him well._ He shook it off quickly, feeling vaguely contaminated by the mere idea.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir gets to know Melpomaen over drinks.

As the week progressed, matters improved in the chief advisor's office. Elrohir had reached the conclusion that the main difference in his duties was that now he sat at Erestor's desk to do them. He did not have the authority to handle most of the matters that Erestor would have dealt with as a matter of course, and as Melpomaen had so succinctly pointed out on his first day, his main task was the delegation of letter writing and paper filing.

At one point he had broken down and asked Melpomaen about that. What exactly was the point of this exercise if he really wasn't accomplishing any more than he normally did? The unflappable secretary had glanced up from his work briefly and replied that it gave him an opportunity to see a bit more of the inner workings of Imladris. After all, it wasn't as if Erestor had the time to show him every bit of paper work that crossed his desk. Elrohir had nodded and given up on trying to make conversation for the day.

In his darker moments Elrohir imagined that Erestor and Melpomaen must have gotten along famously in this office between Erestor's cool silence and Melpomaen's disinclination to speak. At least he had been familiar with Erestor's reticence, and for most of the time they had worked together it had been a comfortable silence that he had not been afraid of breaking. Melpomaen's cool aloofness had been unexpected; Elrohir had anticipated enjoying the company of an elf a little closer to his own age. Two hundred years was not a great age difference among adult elves, but this one carried himself with the mien of an ancient.

He supposed it was remotely possible that Melpomaen resented him. Not that he had been given the great privilege of spending his days seated on leather upholstery rather than a cushioned wood chair, but his entire presence in the room. Melpomaen had been rather unceremoniously ousted from his position upon Elrohir's coming of age, and was now working for several of the lesser councilors until both Elrohir's and Elladan's training was complete. Still, it was hard for Elrohir to believe that an elf could be that petty. It had been no secret nor any surprise that the sons of Elrond would be learning the business of Imladris, and certainly Melpomaen should have expected it.

"Is something troubling you, my lord?" The secretary's tone was even, evincing no interest whatsoever in the answer. Elrohir wondered impatiently why he bothered to ask. For a moment he thought of Elladan, and of how Elladan handled most matters through pure frontal assault. He glanced at Melpomaen, refused to wilt under his flat stare, and wished he was Elladan. The secretary raised an eyebrow, quirking it into an elegant arch that reminded him of Erestor, and that set his teeth on edge. _To Mandos with diplomacy._ He thought viciously. _The Valar hate a coward._

"What's wrong, Melpomaen? And quit calling me ‘my lord.'"

Melpomaen blinked. "I believe it was I who was inquiring after your welfare, my l- Elrohir."

"No, dammit, I've had an awful week preceded by an even worse three months, and I don't feel like dancing. What's the matter? Is it that father put me in charge? If you can call this being in charge." He grimaced. "Because if that's all there is to it, you're more than welcome to the desk -- the whole damned office if you'd like." He bared his teeth in a rapier smile, feeling peculiarly exhilarated. If this was how Elladan felt when he charged thoughtlessly onto the field of verbal battle, Elrohir could understand why he did it.

"No, no, not at all." The eyebrow had returned to its more usual position, and surprise flared in the usually cool, dark eyes. "This week has been trying for me, also. Erestor was not the only councilor to go with the delegation to Lothlorien."

"Of course not." Elrohir muttered, glancing back at the letter on his desk. Half of the work Melpomaen was attending to was not even this office's; of course the older elf would be feeling stressed as well.

"I'm sorry to hear that you've been having difficulties even before this came up."

"Difficulties." He chuckled sardonically. "Yes, I suppose that's what you could call them." Sighing, he pushed the letter off to the side. "I apologize, Melpomaen, for speaking so uncivilly to you. I'm out of sorts; it's all the excuse I have."

"No offense taken, Elrohir." A speculative light flashed in Melpomaen's eye, and he offered a friendly smile. "Perhaps we could get to know each other better? Drinks after supper might be a good place to start."

Elrohir considered. He was morally certain the secretary was not making a pass at him, which made the choice easier to make. In all truthfulness, he had little desire to spend more time in Melpomaen's silent, and undoubtedly socially boring, presence. Still, he would have to work with the elf for another three weeks. It couldn't hurt.

"Bring Elladan along, if you'd like."

"I doubt if Elladan would be much interested in talking shop – unless of course, we decided to talk about Imladris security. I'll be there, though."

"Good. I'll meet you by the fountain out front, and then I'll take you to a place I know of."

It was Elrohir's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Not to fear, Elrohir Peredhil." The look of amusement had returned. "I promise not to take you to any dens of iniquity."

*****

Taverns were not a usual part of Elrohir's experience though he knew that Elladan had been known to visit them on a few occasions. This one was owned and operated by humans, and since it was within Imladris's city borders, he knew it had to conform to at least the most basic standards of propriety. Even so, it looked like a den of iniquity to him, and the last place that Melpomaen would go to spend his free time.

"Nice, isn't it?" The older elf asked, smiling broadly. "You won't find one so pleasant anywhere else in Arda, at least among human kind where the women dance on the tables and the men spit on the floors." Elrohir's eyes widened, and Melpomaen grinned. "Well, sometimes there are women dancing on the tables here, too, but at least we'll be spared the rest."

"Nice." Elrohir echoed uneasily, and Melpomaen clapped him on the back, and steered him toward a table at the back. The place was dark and smelled of ale; the rafters hid behind floating rafts of gray smoke. There were no chairs or stools at the bar, and Elrohir noted that though several men stood at it, there were no women. They kept to the tables, playing cards, drinking, and laughing with as much zest as the men. A few men and women were playing darts at the other end of the long room, and judging by their performance they were either very drunk or Glorfindel had severely understated the humans inferiority to the elves in matters of vision and aim.

"Melpomaen!" A woman squealed, and Elrohir looked up, eyes wide and startled as a hunted rabbit's. She stood by the table carrying a large, round tray so covered in empty and half empty glasses that its cork surface was barely visible. He had noticed several others like her, all wearing red, slim skirted dresses with midnight blue, bodices and red breast panels. He'd guessed they were serving women, but he was too amazed at the scene to congratulate himself on his correct observation.

"Greetings, Candi, you look lovely tonight." Elrohir supposed she did, if one was human and favored voluptuous blondes with round eyes and cheeks. The woman laughed merrily in response to Melpomaen's flattery, however, and briefly squeezed him in a one armed hug.

"You always look just darling, Melpomaen, and you know we miss you when you're away. I see you brought a new friend tonight." Her too bright gaze flickered to Elrohir, and he restrained the urge to cringe.

"Yes, this is Ellar, a co-worker of mine."

"Well, pleased to meet you, Ellar." Candi flashed a smile, and settled her tray on an abundant hip. "What can I get for you two? The usual?"

"That'll be fine, Candi."

"Alright, then." She disappeared into the crowd, red skirt switching extravagantly as she made her way toward the bar. Elrohir flicked his tongue nervously over his lips and glanced back at Melpomaen.

"You come here often, then?"

"Yes." The older elf smiled, settled down at the table. "It is nice to have a place to go where one does not see all the familiar faces, and where one is not required to be the respectable secretary of the redoubtable Chief Advisor of Imladris.

"Oh, I can see how I would go out of my way to visit a place where I'm referred to as looking ‘just darling.'"

"That's Candi." Melpomaen's eyebrow lifted into its familiar, irritating arch. "You can see my point, though, can't you?"

Actually, he could. Elrohir nodded slowly. "I suppose there isn't much you could get up to here that would attract much notice."

Melpomaen grinned across the table and shook his head. "This is nothing, Elrohir. Just humans having a good time in their own simple way. I find that the simplicity of it has its own attractions."

Elrohir could agree with that, too. There had been precious little simplicity in his life for several long months. Then Candi was back, reappearing from out of the smoke and grouped bunches of drunken humans.

"Here y'go." She set their drinks before them with a thud that nearly slopped the contents of the tankards onto the table top. "Anything else for you two?"

"No, thank you, Candi." Melpomaen answered, and she smiled brightly, making dimples.

"Well, I'll be back to check on you before you have a chance to miss me." Again she was gone, this time with her tray balanced on her hand over her head. Elrohir watched her go, then returned his gaze to Melpomaen.

"I do not think I shall be in any danger of missing her."

Melpomaen laughed and took a long swallow from his tankard. Elrohir took a sip. The drink was sweet and light, sweeter than what he would have chosen on his own if he had any familiarity with human beverages. His next sip was less cautious, and Melpomaen smiled approvingly.

"That's ordered special, and arrives via an extremely circuitous route." He shrugged and flashed even, white teeth. "I'm actually paying for it twice since I make no demands on it beyond having it available when I stop in, but I find that preferable to drinking alone."

"I can understand that." Elrohir tossed back a few more mouthfuls. His cheeks felt hot, and he could sense sweat standing on his brow. "No one likes to be alone."

"Indeed not."

They chattered about inconsequentials, anything and everything but the affairs of Imladris. Candi came to refill their tankards several times, and Elrohir was silently amazed that the taciturn secretary could have so much to say, or be such entertaining company. Some of the stories he regaled him with were even more scandalous than those told him by Erestor, and a few of them were about Erestor – not to mention Glorfindel, Elrond, and Celebrian.

"Do any of them ever come here?" He asked, and giggled at the image of his lady mother ordering a drink and then playing a game of darts. In some distant part of his mind, Elrohir was aware that he was very, very drunk, but it didn't seem to matter. Melpomaen seemed only a bit tipsy, and he was having too much fun to care.

"No, none of them, though I wouldn't be surprised were I to bump into Glorfindel some night. He has some rather… unusual tastes."

"Oh?" Elrohir asked brightly. He had discovered his inner gossip monger, and was in no hurry to turn his back on it. Melpomaen laughed.

"Enough of that, or I'll get myself in trouble. I wanted to ask about you, how you're doing."

"Me? I'm doing fine." His smile broadened. "Wonderful, as a matter of fact."

"Well, you said you'd had a terrible few months, and I'm curious. What is it? Your parents? It must be difficult, being a prince." Elrohir opened his mouth to refute the title, but Melpomaen waved his hand impatiently. "Oh, yes you are, whether they choose to use the title or not. Prince of Imladris."

"No, no, it's not that." Elrohir glanced dizzily around, and hoping no one had heard Melpomaen's drunken declaration. No one had; the other patrons were too intent on their own business. "Though it does grow tiresome. Particularly a few weeks back, when father confined us to the immediate vicinity of the house for spending the night out without leave. And we weren't even out!"

"Really! Where were you?" Melpomaen leaned forward expectantly, elbows on the table. Elrohir blinked, took another sip from his tankard.

"Never mind."

"Ah, so you were with your lover!" Melpomaen's eyes widened with glee. "And your brother, too?"

Elrohir choked, blinked back stinging tears as he tried to clear his windpipe. "If that's what you want to call him… lover, I mean, not Elladan…" He wheezed, and Melpomaen nodded sympathetically.

"Ah, so that is the problem."

"Taking advantage of Elladan is what it looked like he was doing to me. Then, no, I thought it was love. Didn't like it." He stared blearily at Melpomaen, trying for solemnity. "Still, I figured Elladan's able to make his own decisions. Now he says he can't, that he's leaving him but he's going to do it gently. Unobstru… obsu… trusively. Nonobstrusively." He nodded seriously. "And that's where I come in."

"How awful." Melpomaen shook his head. "But I thought you said he was your lover."

"Oh, mine too. Long story."

"I imagine it is. But how are you supposed to help him let go of Elladan unobtrusively?"

"Well, see, that I can't tell you."

"Ah, well…" He blinked as Elrohir's eyes rolled back and the young elf fell forward onto the table top. "Well, I think you've already told me everything I wanted to hear." With a sigh he rose and waved a cheerful goodbye to Candi as he hoisted the unconscious elf out of his seat and headed for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the sort of thing that starts happening when you're a relatively new writer, you realize your characters have had just about all the sex they can have without spraining their dicks, and you really have no idea where your story is going.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir and Elladan confront Melpomaen.

"Where in the name of Mandos were you last night?" Elladan's voice cut through the pleasant comfort of reverie jarringly. Elrohir tried to burrow further into the pillow, but Elladan's voice gave him no peace. "I waited up for you in the parlor playing cards with Lindir, and then when I gave up a little after midnight I found you already here in bed! Unconscious, I might add, and smelling like a brewery."

Elrohir's eyes flew open, and his expression transformed into a mask of pure horror as he took in his surroundings. Elladan's rooms. He had been out drinking with Melpomaen, and had apparently passed out. And Melpomaen had returned him, not to his own quarters, but to his brother's.

"Oh, dear Elbereth have mercy on us!" He cried plaintively, and Elladan blinked, confused. His tone had carried more amusement than anger, but now that faded into concern.

"What's wrong, brother?"

"Elladan, I was out drinking with Melpomaen. In a tavern."

Elladan's eyes widened, and he nodded respectfully. "I'm sorry, Elrohir."

"No, no, that's not the problem!" He ran his hand through his hair, catching his fingers in skewed braids. "I must have had too much to drink, and he brought me back. Here. Not to my rooms, but here."

All color drained from Elladan's face. His knees gave way, and he abruptly sat on the bed beside Elrohir. "Dear Elbereth, brother, what did you say to him?"

"Too much. I don't remember everything, though." He sat upright, buried his face in his hands. "Enough for him to put two and two together, obviously."

"And it's equally obvious that he wants you to know that he has." The ashen hue was lifting from Elladan's face, and his expression had become stony. "Do you have any idea what he wants?"

"None. I can't imagine what he would want from me."

"Well, let's see, we are the sons of the Lord of Imladris."

Elrohir shook his head. "I don't see him being interested in money or possessions, and he knows I can't acquire much in the way of land or power for him. It's not sex." His cheeks reddened as he looked down at his lap. "He could have had that easily enough last night if that was his aim."

"Perhaps he has more interesting tastes." Elladan's tone was cold; Elrohir glanced over at him sharply. His brother's dark eyes were distant and frostily contemplative. Elladan would know, after all, about odd tastes and the methods some would stoop to in order to attain them.

"I truly don't believe that's it."

"Bathe. Get dressed." Elladan said abruptly. "I think we need to pay a visit to your secretary."

*****

They found him in the gardens reading a book by the pond. Sitting cross legged in the grass he looked almost like an elfling; one almost expected to see the cuffs of his tunic falling over his knuckles and his pant legs bagging over too large boots. Elladan's eyes narrowed, and he signaled for Elrohir to approach him. Taking a deep breath, he walked forward to confront his silently reading nemesis.

"Good morning, Melpomaen."

"And to you, Elrohir." He glanced up over the top of his book, smiled. "Did you have a good evening? I would have asked you last night, but you were somewhat indisposed."

"I was rather surprised to find myself in Elladan's room this morning."

"Really?" Melpomaen's expression was knowing. "I'd think you'd be used to it." He shrugged and set the book aside. He began to turn back to Elrohir but was brought up short by the cold touch of sharpened steel at the nape of his neck.

"We haven't had a chance yet to meet in a social capacity, Melpomaen, but I'm sure you won't mind if we talk now." Elladan spoke conversationally from behind him. To his credit, Melpomaen's expression was as cool and impassive as ever; he might have been sitting at his desk instead of being held at knife point in a distant section of the Last Homely House's gardens. Elladan settled down in the grass behind him, his body shielding the knife from view. His lips were level with the secretary's ear.

None of his dismay showed in his expression, but Elrohir felt a chill as his gaze moved to his brother's face. This was not the Elladan he knew, not his brightly smiling, convivial brother who was light of laughter and soft hearted, unwilling to harm another's feelings, and never mind doing them physical harm. Elladan's face was cold, and utterly without feeling. It was the face of a warrior - no, not even that. It was the face of an assassin, and Elrohir repressed a shudder at the sight of that beautiful, emotionless face.

"Surely you have some reason for your actions, Melpomaen. We would know them." Elladan spoke softly, chillingly. Melpomaen turned his head to meet his eyes, did not wince at the increased pressure of the blade against his neck.

"My reasons are my own. I am sure that Elrohir will not wish to speak to anyone of my favored places of entertainment."

"Not good enough." Elrohir said abruptly. He dropped down onto the grass in front of Melpomaen, adopting a casual pose that he hoped would fool any observers. "You have to know that is not an even trade, that the one does not cover the other."

"You think not?" He returned his gaze to Elrohir. "It doesn't matter; it's all that I'm offering. Take it or leave it. Those are your choices, unless you consider cutting my throat on the Last Homely House's lawn an option."

Elladan swore softly. The knife snicked into its sheathe, and Melpomaen shifted his position so that he could face both of them. "Is Lindir involved? Did you set him to keep me busy while you were off with Elrohir? Or was he the one to put you up to it?"

Melpomaen arched a slender eyebrow, shrugged, said nothing.

"We could have you sent away."

"That would be inadvisable, I think. In more ways than one." He smiled, lips stretching tightly, humorlessly. "If it is any consolation, I could care less about what you two do together, nor am I inclined to speak of it to anyone."

Elrohir and Elladan exchanged looks, thoughts conjoined in a rapid fire, silent conversation. It was evident that Melpomaen had won this round. In spite of the cold fury that had encompassed Elladan, he was not a murderer. Elrohir had given the older elf far more ammunition against them than they could muster, even considering their position and status. They could only take Melpomaen's word and depend upon his silence.

Elladan rose to his feet swiftly, stymied anger evident in every taut muscle of his body. Elrohir followed suit.

"It is good to know that you are of a liberal conscience." Elrohir said smoothly, eyes narrowed.

"Indeed. Perhaps I will speak to you later, Elrohir."

Elladan glared and started to speak, but Elrohir waved him to silence. "Perhaps. We bid you good day."

"And to you." Melpomaen's amusement was obvious. Elrohir swallowed back his anger and turned on his heel. Together he and Elladan stalked back toward the house.

*****

"Should we question Lindir?" Elrohir asked as he paced the length of the room. It was his room rather than Elladan's, somewhat larger since it had originally been intended to be shared by two people. Elladan lay on the bed glaring at the ceiling and barked humorless laughter at Elrohir's question.

"Why? We won't get any more from him if he does know anything, and if he is innocent we will only be alerting him to the fact that something is going on." 

"I suppose you're right." Elrohir pressed his fingertips to his forehead. "That went… phenomenally badly."

"You think?" He turned his head to scowl darkly at his brother. "May I ask how this came up in casual conversation, Elrohir? I mean, how exactly does one go from court gossip to discussing the affair one is having with one's brother?"

"It wasn't like that, Elladan!" Elrohir turned to face him. "I never said that in so many words, but… he is a cagey one. And I was drunk."

"Ah, now there's an excuse." Elladan rolled his eyes. "And what exactly did he mean, that he would talk to you later? Let me guess – this is more business that must be taken care of around poor, dear, hopeless, and none too bright Elladan."

"No! I don't have any idea what he was talking about, but it seemed to me that we'd be better off saying as little as possible." He sighed, shifting his gaze to the window. "As it is, we may well have said far too much."

"What do you mean?"

Elrohir bit his lip and cast his brother a sideways glance. "As I said, I never told him anything, not in so many words. Returning me to your room…" He sighed heavily, shut his eyes. "That might have been nothing more than a test of his supposition."

Elladan stared speechlessly. "You might have mentioned this sooner."

"Yes, I might have, dammit, but I didn't remember! Everything happened so quickly, Elladan!"

Elladan sighed and rose before crossing the room to his brother. "It is alright. I'm none too pleased at the moment, but I do love you, Elrohir. And he won't tell. That much I was able to… understand… from him."

Elrohir nodded. It came as no surprise to him that Elladan would find this issue important enough to bend his talents toward hearing more than Melpomaen's words.

"What does he think?"

"You know that I cannot hear thoughts. But I can say that though at the time he was furious, he has been unhappy for a long while. For some reason our indiscretions bring him joy." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, half way between angry relief and disgust. "There truly is no inclination on his part to speak, though I think that at the moment he would have been more than happy to beat both of us to bloody pulps."

"Well, that is not an unusual feeling to have about someone has a knife to one's neck." Elrohir's lips compressed. "Why did you do that, Elladan? You frightened me."

"I'm sorry, brother. I'd hoped to frighten him." He pulled Elrohir into his embrace. "As to why… well, I don't know. I cannot ever recall being that enraged. Or disliking anyone so much. He could have done anything to you last night, Elrohir. That does not sit well with me."

Elrohir felt a giddy lightness at his brother's words. For too long he had felt as if it were his task to protect and take care of Elladan. He had seen too little of his brother the hunter and warrior who was fearless in more than matters of the heart. That Elladan might feel protective of him came as a pleasant surprise, and knowing the Elladan was not thoughtless of him filled his heart with joy. It had seemed to him that Elladan merely accepted with childlike trust that he could handle everything. It sent a pleasurable thrill though him to realize that, sometimes and in some instances, Elladan was not content to simply float.

"Perhaps it is you who are my elf knight."

"Me?" Elladan's eyes widened; he stepped back to look at Elrohir, abashed. "No, not I."

"I think you are." Elrohir smiled. "But be that as it may, please do not do such a thing again. That was… unsettling."

"As you wish." Elladan kissed him gently, soft lips conforming to his twin's. "You know I cannot deny you. See? I have even forgotten that I was angry with you."

Elrohir grinned, stepped closer. "There is nothing you would deny me, Elladan?"

"Nothing at all." He answered, and Elrohir purred.

"Come back to the bed, then, and prove it."


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir steps into a more dominant sexual role.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this story archived in a single day, but I had not realized just how badly it was in need of editing. I am tired. From here to the end, I'm simply cutting and pasting with the hope that I'll have time to come back and do at least superficial editing in the future. 
> 
> This story could easily be triggering if you have suffered mental, emotional, or sexual abuse.

Elrohir's thoughts were a dazed whirl as he made his way through the corridors of the Last Homely House. Elladan had not had much time in which to prove that there was nothing he would deny his brother – they could not spend all their free days and evenings sequestered in one of their rooms – but he'd made a good start. The remainder of the day had been spent in keeping up the routines of the house, a task which demanded little more of them than that they be visible and mimic their father's usual orders. Neither of them truly believed that the house would fall into ruins if they failed to hear the castelan's report or the steward's, nor did they feel that disaster would result if the household and citizens of Imladris did not see at least one Peredhil going about his daily business. Even so, it would not be a good idea to give anyone the idea that the twins were running wild in their father's absence; both had learned that the appearance of respectability was often more important than its actuality.

Then there was the matter of Melpomaen. Elrohir had expected to see very little of the elf for the remainder of the weekend, but he had surprised him. He, too, had continued to follow his usual routines with no apparent change in disposition. Melpomaen was not known for his vivacity and gregariousness, but neither did he skulk through the shadows, stealthily making his way from his rooms to the office like a cat burglar. Elrohir had not previously realized how often and in how many places Melpomaen typically could be found, from the secondary dining hall to the library, from the front lawn to the baths, and thence to the open sitting room. He paid no more heed to Elrohir's distant presence than he normally would have, and that in itself was disturbing.

Elladan had said that Melpomaen had no intention of using what he knew, but Elrohir had his doubts. It seemed to him that the dark haired elf had gone to a great deal of trouble to gather his information, and had made a point of letting them know that he possessed it. There was a catch somewhere -- there had to be. It could be nothing more than a bluff to gain some yet unspoken objective, but even if that was all there was to it, Elrohir could not feel completely comfortable. Melpomaen knew more than he should, and if his liberality of conscience or willingness to apply pressure should shift, he and Elladan would find themselves in more trouble than they could handle. 

At the moment his thoughts were not on Melpomaen, however. Evening had come at last; he and Elladan had made their appearance at the dinner table and had done a more than passable job at playing host in their parent's absence. Their guests had consisted of some human traders come to Imladris with their caravans of wares, a few of the rangers, and a trio of elves traveling from ‘Lorien. The gathering in Lothlorien spared them the arduous task of piecing together diplomatic conversation with ambassadors and potentially prickly nobles, which suited Elrohir perfectly. It had not been difficult to get through the meal or the obligatory visit in the parlor, and he had been in relatively good spirits when he and his brother were at last free to return to Elladan's chambers.

Then things had shifted again, shifted dizzyingly suddenly, sickening sweetly because Elladan had promised him everything and had been intent on making good on that promise. _Make me yours_ , were the words he'd whispered in subtle demand, and he had been all softness and submissiveness, pliant in Elrohir's hands as ever he had been in Erestor's. There had been a silent keening in his eyes -- a crystalline ache that Elrohir had wanted to ease, and not only for Elladan's sake. It was something that could not be soothed with equal softness, and in the haziness of his thought Elrohir had wanted to give him what he wanted, to feel that rush of exhilarating heat that he had known previously only in imagination, only in anticipation self denied.

Which was why he was now hurrying through the dark hallways, face flushed and hands shaking as he scrabbled in the pocket of his robe for the key to Erestor's door.

Elrohir ducked inside quickly and hurried to the wardrobe. The room was well lit by Ithil's light, and he had no difficulty in navigating the familiar, spartanly decorated chamber. The wardrobe was locked as well, but Elrohir had come prepared for such a possibility. Erestor was not the only one capable of playing games; Elrohir had helped himself to that small, silver key one afternoon about a month ago and had made a copy. If Erestor was aware of the temporary theft, he had never said anything about it, nor had he changed the lock.

His gaze fell on the shadowed rows of hanging implements; leather straps, light whips, flails. Mithril chains hung in neat coils from sturdy hooks, covered boxes nestled comfortably on the dark shelves. Elrohir hissed in a breath, uncertain as to what to borrow, as to how much he could carry back with him. Cursing the darkness, he leaned in further, lifting lids and attempting to see what lay within them, wishing that he'd had the presence of mind to bring a candle. It briefly occurred to him that it would have been easier to bring Elladan with him than to try to take back an assortment of Erestor's toys, but the idea did not really appeal.

His eyes lit upon a set of cuffs connected by a short chain, the steel bar ending in manacles. The keys were in the locks; and Elrohir grinned as he picked them up. He'd brought a large draw string sack with him, and he dropped the items in, pausing to collect a few more odds and ends. A few of the things he'd had in mind seemed to be missing; a last quick scan proved that they were definitely gone. Elrohir frowned with momentary suspicion as he lifted the sack, shut the wardrobe door and re locked it. Certainly he hadn't seen Erestor pack any of those things, and he couldn't imagine what Erestor would possibly want with them in Lothlorien. He shoved the thought aside, deciding that it was more than he really wanted to consider, at least for the nonce.

*****

Elladan was not reclining on his bed when Elrohir returned. There was no braided rug in his room, nor even a clear mid point due to the location of his bed and trunk, but Elladan had made do with the next best thing. He knelt between bed and wardrobe, nude and with his hair pulled back. There was just enough room for Elrohir to circle him if he wished to, though on the bed side there wasn't quite enough room to do it comfortably. His hands were clasped behind his back, his cheeks wore a fetching blush, and his arousal was blatantly apparent. Elrohir blinked, swallowed hard as he made his way to the bed. In addition to his own arousal, he felt suddenly nervous.

"We need to re arrange your room." He said. He almost dumped the contents of the sack on the sheets, decided not to. Erestor never left his toys out in plain sight; they never knew what was to come next until the last moment. "We'll put the bed against the wall, move the trunk to the window."

Elladan said nothing, and Elrohir's stomach danced with unexpected butterflies. Was his silence indicative of acceptance or displeasure with his presumption? Should he demand an answer? What he had said had not been a question; maybe Elladan had not thought that it required an answer. Elrohir bit his lower lip as he reached for the cuffs, wondered if Elladan would apologize if he demanded some manner of reply. Taking a steadying breath he essayed the experiment, back still turned to Elladan's kneeling form.

"Speak when you're spoken to, Elladan."

"I'm sorry, Elrohir. We can rearrange the room in any way you like."

He sidestepped behind his brother, genuflected to guide Elladan's hands into the cuffs. Elladan turned his wrists with easy acceptance, did not stiffen or demonstrate any unease as Elrohir shortened the connecting chain. It occurred to Elrohir that the cuffs really were beside the point. Elladan would have kept his hands behind his back if he had told him to, would hold them there regardless of what else Elrohir chose to do. He licked his lips, ran his hands over the curve of his brother's arms from shoulders to trapped wrists, considered what to do next now that he could do anything at all.

It was not as easy as he had imagined, not as simple as merely taking what he wanted as he'd thought Erestor had done. He traced his fingers along backward arched shoulder blades, down the path of his brother's spine, felt the tremors of leashed excitement and expectation. It was in that unvoiced, submissive expectation that the difficulty lay, and suddenly the tableau made sense to Elrohir. It did not matter who knelt and who stood, who held the lash and who felt its bite. Elladan was his to do with as he wished in this way so long as he fulfilled those desires that, by the very rules of the game, could not be spoken. Elladan made his own demands, albeit silently; his nude form was a conundrum that Erestor had solved.

Elrohir kissed the side of his brother's neck, smiled against the hot flesh. Elladan did not want sweet love making in chains, a touch of bondage to give their relationship a further illicit thrill. Neither did Elrohir. His hands dropped to the cuffs, removed them and tossed them aside. This time the shiver he felt was more pronounced. Elrohir recognized the confusion in that involuntary motion in addition to arousal, and his smile broadened.

"Do you agree to this, Elladan?" He asked silkily, mouth close to his brother's ear.

"Yes, Elrohir." Came the whispered reply. He rewarded Elladan with a gentle nip on his earlobe, the briefest moment of suction. Elrohir heard him catch his breath, felt the tension in his jaw as he willed himself not to turn more fully into the contact.

"You agree that you are mine?" He asked as he lapped at the curve of Elladan's ear. Elladan nodded, eyes clenched shut, and this time Elrohir drew back his hand and delivered a stinging, open handed slap to his brother's back side. "And to think that only the other day I imagined you were well trained."

"I'm sorry, Elrohir. Yes, Elrohir, I'm yours."

"Good." He noted the sweat standing on Elladan's brow appreciatively, laid his hand flat on his chest in order to feel the increasing rhythm of his heart. "You will always answer when you're spoken to, unless I am giving you a command. In which case you will immediately comply. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Elrohir." He closed his eyes, and Elrohir lightly brushed his cheek.

"Keep them open." He slipped his hand downward, took Elladan's cock in hand. His brother's eyes were open now, slightly glazed, lashes fluttering with the effort to keep them at least at half mast. Elrohir began to stroke him slowly, then increased his speed. Soft cries escaped his brother's parted lips; his thighs shook from the effort of remaining still in Elrohir's grip. He sensed when Elladan had reached the edge, that final point of balance before the downward rush of orgasm, and he slid his hand to the base of his cock, squeezed. Elladan whimpered.

"Not yet." He patted the inside of Elladan's thigh with the back of his hand, and Elladan immediately parted them further. Elrohir felt a rush of dizzying excitement at that simple motion, the compliance of this body that needed no words to direct its actions. --I am in control.-- He thought, grateful that Elladan could not see his wide eyed amazement, felt a peculiar sort of exhilarated unease. Elladan continued to wait, nearly panting, waiting for anything Elrohir would do next. Anything.

He removed the ribbon holding Elladan's hair, re-tied it higher. His brother's mahogany tresses still swung down to the small of his back, and Elrohir swiftly braided the tail, wound it into a knot and tucked it under the ribbon.

"This is the first and last time I'm going to forewarn you of my actions, or give you any explanation for them." Elrohir said, rising and stepping back toward the bed. He removed the leather strap from the sack, wound his hand through the loop in one end as stepped in front of Elladan. Elladan eyed the strap as if it were a venomous snake, returned his gaze to Elrohir. "Do you know why I'm doing this?"

"No, Elrohir." The words were nearly a whisper.

"Because I want you to understand what belonging to me entails, sweet one." He cupped his brother's chin in his hand, tilted his face upward. "I want you to understand that I do not need reasons for what I do, that you have given up the right to ask me for reasons." He caressed Elladan's cheek, smiled gently. "Humans commit violence to teach lessons, Elladan. What lesson do you think I want you to learn?"

"That you can do what you want with me."

"And they say I am the smart one." He released Elladan's face, stepped behind him. "Extend your arms to your sides, as far as you're reasonably able."

The first strike was the most difficult. He had not chosen any of the other implements of chastisement because he'd known that to do so would have made the first strike impossible. Elrohir stared at the pristine skin of his brother's back, let the strap dance delicately over it evoking shivers and the faintest of whimpered, expectant cries. He had never thought that he would hurt his brother, certainly not intentionally. His mouth had gone dry, and he felt light headed, dazed. Elrohir took a deep breath, swung the strap in a hard, swift arc.

The flinch was easily perceptible, not a mere trembling of muscles, and Elrohir swallowed hard. There could be no let up, no pause. Elrohir understood that he could not play with this, could not allow it to be nothing more than a dirty little game. The second stroke was easier, carried by mental momentum if not the momentum of physics, and again there was that flinch, but there was also a rolling forward of shoulders rather than a cringing away.

He let the blows fall faster, harder, never minding artistic effect or any particular rhythm. Elrohir struggled to maintain his breathing, to retain that air of cool collectedness that Erestor never lost. Elladan made up for his control with gasps and small cries, strangled moans forced their way out from behind the clenched barrier of his teeth. Leather kissed the back of his neck, and he moaned, bowed his head. Elrohir saw the shaking of his shoulders, the tightness in arms and quivering back muscles, and he stepped forward to press his hand to the back of his brother's head, wound the strap around his hand several more times before concentrating his efforts on that smaller expanse of skin.

The effect was sickly gratifying. He knotted his hand in Elladan's hair, felt the aversion/attraction in the shifting pressure and pull on his fingers. Here where his hair normally covered him Elladan's skin was soft and creamy; it reddened swiftly under the strap. Elrohir bit his lip, captured between arousal and dismay. The only sounds were Elladan's shuddering whimpers and hissed gasps for breath, the crack of leather against skin, sharper now that the skin it danced upon was sheeted in sweat.

At last he released Elladan's hair, returned his efforts to the area between shoulders and waist. His cock was straining almost painfully against his leggings, sweat stood on his own brow as he watched welts rising from the strap's ministrations. --Don't make him, cry, Elrohir.-- He thought distantly as he watched the strap rise and fall. --Don't you dare, because you know that if you do it'll be all over, you won't be able to go on if you make cry, so don't do it.--

The thought cut through his increasing excitement, forced him back into the moment as participant rather than as observer of his own actions. The first strike had been difficult, but now it was easy, almost too easy. Too easy to keep on going, to feel the rush of blood in his veins, listen to the discordant music he and Elladan were creating together, continue until he had something that would make him cry as well as Elladan once the heat of ecstasy faded. He listened instead to the sound of Elladan's labored breathing, the tone of his cries. He heard when his brother's half stifled moans shifted, when his breathing began to develop an odd hitch. A few more strikes, then, and he let the strap fall to the floor.

"Elladan." He stepped back in front of his brother, lifted his face once more. His cheeks were wet with tears, and Elrohir felt a moment of shock at the sight. He had made him cry after all, though silently, had created those wet trails that streaked downward over the high planes of cheeks, down to the line of his jaw. The words --Are you alright, Elladan-- danced on the tip of his tongue, as did an apology. He choked them down, forced himself to show nothing more than a pleased smile. Erestor had made a point of showing him that Elladan would let him know if anything was too much, too intense. Judging by his unabated arousal, that point had not been reached.

"Lower your arms." Elladan did so, and Elrohir brushed his cheeks gently with the back of his hand, wiped the tears carefully away. He ran a fingertip over the full lips, pressed at the seam until Elladan opened for him, took his finger in and sucked on it. Suddenly Elrohir knew what he wanted next, yes, heat and wetness, Elladan kneeling to take his cock as sweetly as he had for Erestor. With his free hand he tugged the laces of his leggings free, tapped Elladan's shoulder.

Again Elladan understood without needing to be told, and Elrohir felt his brother's hands touch his hips, slide the fabric down. For a moment his cock danced against Elladan's cheek smearing the tanned skin with clear liquid evidence of his own desire. Salt essence replaced salt tears; Elladan's luminous eyes were fixed on his own, and Elrohir took a deep breath as he guided his cock into his brother's mouth, batted his hands away.

He locked his fingers together around the back of Elladan's head, rocked forward into that incredible heat and wet suction, slid inward until his cock was touching the back of his brother's throat. Elladan had knelt for him before, but never like this, never passively obedient, accepting whatsoever he desired with such intoxicating submission. Once more his hands were behind his back, and he allowed himself to be held, made no murmur of protest as Elrohir's hands slid, thumbs now resting at either side of his jaw, gentle yet firm, using him with selfish abandon paradoxically mixed with exquisite care.

Elrohir had wanted to take him, to push him down on hands and knees and ride out his passion within him, but the seduction of those lips was more than he could bear. Elladan was motionless save for lips and tongue, and then even that became only wet friction, warmth and suction, as Elrohir moved without thought of erotic technique. He thought of nothing save for the release, of the delicious image his brother had become.

He felt the imminence of his release, and pulled back from Elladan with no idea of what was motivating his actions, no thought, no intellectualization or consideration. There was only pleasure and desire, want and need, the wish to feel and to see. He cupped his brother's chin in his hand, stroked his own cock one last time, hissed in nearly painful ecstasy as his essence jetted over Elladan's features. Elladan blinked, darted his tongue out to lap at the warm liquid coating his lower lip even as he restrained his first instinctive flinch.

"You are beautiful, Elladan." He whispered raggedly, and it was true. Elladan stared up at him, wide eyed, body trembling. Elrohir's seed slipped slickly on his forehead and cheeks, glossed his lips. He blinked several times, almost forgot himself enough to touch his face, and Elrohir laughed softly, reached to smooth viscous wetness from a heavily laden eyelash.

"Stay where you are, sweet one." He said softly as finished removing his leggings, stepped behind him and knelt. Elladan had not sobbed while he was being beaten, but his breathing nearly became sobbing as Elrohir reached around him, took his cock in hand.

"Your turn now, lovely. I want you to come for me."

Elrohir stroked him as if he were stroking himself, moving him swiftly and expertly toward much desired release. His free arm was locked around his brother's waist, his lips pressed to Elladan's wet cheek. Elrohir could taste his own seed, flicked his tongue against its wet smoothness. Elladan was shaking against him, moaning hoarsely as he neared his climax, and when Elrohir let go of him to skate his fingers through the salt essence on Elladan's face and then pressed a finger into his cleft he nearly screamed.

He penetrated him swiftly but carefully, found his sweet spot and stroked it mercilessly. Adding a second finger, he rocked Elladan backwards until he was nearly sitting in his lap, impaled upon the intruding digit – and then he ceased all movement.

"Move, Elladan. Finish it." He said softly as he lapped at Elladan's cheek, and with a strangled cry Elladan began to buck between Elrohir's hands. Elrohir's desire, already aroused once more, leapt against his brother's exposed buttocks. He gritted his teeth, waited a few more moments. Elladan writhed and twisted on him, moans becoming whimpers verging on pleading sobs, and finally Elrohir removed his fingers, replaced them with something more urgent.

It did not take long for Elladan to finish. Heat and pressure, thickness sliding within only partially prepared tight darkness was enough to drive him over the edge with only a few more strokes of his cock, a few more strokes against his hidden nub of desire. Elrohir clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his scream of ecstasy, and then he was nothing more than a limp, gasping weight skewered on his lap. Elrohir had to support him as he, too, finished, holding him firmly about the waist to lift and lower him even as he flexed muscles in buttocks and thighs to maintain his insistent rhythm At last they sprawled together on the floor, both flushed and gasping for breath.

He was still barely connecting when he helped Elladan rise to his feet, turned him to sit on the bed. He shoved the sack of mostly unused toys unceremoniously off the bed, ran a hand affectionately through his brother's hair. Elladan offered him a dazed smile, and he chuckled quietly in response. He almost asked if it had been alright, if Elladan had liked it. Again he withheld the words, settled for something more in keeping with what he was trying to do.

"Are you alright?" He tried not to evince tremendous worry, but he was concerned. He himself had rarely been alright after a session with Erestor. It occurred to him that he had also always answered that question affirmatively.

"I'm fine, Elrohir."

"Are you sure?" He caught himself biting his lip, and offered Elladan a small smile. "I want to know if anything is wrong."

"I'll let you know, Elrohir. Don't worry so much."

He nodded, gave his brother a quick hug. He should have known that Elladan would read him, that to some extent the front he put up would never be as completely successful as Erestor's had been. Elrohir found that he liked that, that it made him more comfortable.

While he had been off raiding Erestor's wardrobe, Elladan had brought a basin of water and towels. As he began to clean Elladan's face something else clicked into place for Elrohir. He had never understood the tenderness that existed between the advisor and his brother, never understood how that could have been real. As he gently wiped Elladan's cheeks with the damp cloth he understood it perfectly well. He paused, kissed Elladan's soft lips.

"I love you, Elladan."

Elladan smiled, all wide, innocent eyes that had become clear windows to his heart. "I love you, too, Elrohir."


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan and Elrohir talk.

Dawn had not yet broken when he awoke, though outside the birds were already singing their song of morning. Elladan still clung to him, one arm wrapped about his waist, head resting on his chest. Elrohir ran a gentle hand from his brother's neck to the swell of his buttocks, encountered no broken skin or raised welts. He had not delivered anything so severe as what Erestor might have, and he had used the salve on Elladan afterwards. It did not surprise him that his brother had healed in his sleep, and he doubted that there would be any more than a little redness here and there to show for the previous night's activities.

He could not help feeling guilt even as lust stirred within him as he thought of what they had done together. He had not put up much of an argument when Elladan had asked him to step into this new role – he hadn't put up any argument at all, as he recalled. There had been no real discussion of it, merely that softly worded request that had caused him to buckle.

 _Make me yours_. Elladan had whispered, and Elrohir had known that had not been asking to be made love to on his yet neatly made bed. Not when he had been kneeling before his seated form to ask, not when he'd pressed his forehead to Elrohir's knee, slid downward as if to bow to the floor, to touch his smooth brow to Elrohir's booted foot. Elrohir had not let him do that, although he'd felt a twist of firein his loins as Elladan had attempted to show him obeisance. Instead he had pulled Elladan into his arms and kissed him, but it had not been an action of denial. The words he had whispered back had been, _Wait here_. and he had known by the light dancing in Elladan's eyes that Elladan had understood that his request had been accepted.

Elrohir supposed that discussion had not really been needed. In a way they had been debating this since Erestor had left, though without recourse to words. The request had been in the conformity of Elladan's body, in his delicious malleability under Elrohir's hands. Only the slightest touch was needed to elicit a response from Elladan, the merest hint of pressure to move him from one position to the next. It was as if Elladan sought to please and obey even in the absence of orders, had turned his skills toward anticipating Elrohir's desires so that he could grant them in that aching absence. And Elrohir had allowed it. The words, when finally spoken, were only the culmination of a softly subtle seduction, Elrohir's acceptance only the foreordained conclusion to it.

Elrohir still could not rest completely easy with it, however. The erotic thrill had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced, even more intense than what he'd felt during those long and sickly rapturous hours spent in Erestor's chambers. Oh yes, shine of fresh perspiration, trembling of arms held impossibly willingly, snap of leather, moans and cries – it had nearly spiraled him into an unthinking state of desire seeking only release. The image of Elladan gazing up at him, rivulets of cream streaming down his face, was branded in Elrohir's memory.

He knew what it felt like. He knew the shame and the thrill, the trembling in his stomach that was three parts arousal to one part abject humiliation, how the two could twine together in an ecstatic, incomprehensible stew. He knew what it was like to nestle afterwards in the arms of his tormentor, needing that embrace while wanting only to bury his face in the blankets, to be unseen, to disappear. He knew about lying still, feeling the after tremors of orgasm and thinking, _Never again_ , and he knew about going back for more, and more, and more.

It was not something Elrohir would ask for if it came down to that. The beauty of their relationship with Erestor was that it had been passive. All he had needed to do was present himself; he had not needed to ask. He had been able to gather his reasons around him like a cloak to cover his nakedness, and the adrenaline rush had been allowed to go on because of that. Elrohir had been able to quell the shame by telling himself that it was all for Elladan, had told himself anything and everything he'd had to as time had gone on in order to settle the half frightened dismay that accompanied the ecstasy.

Elladan had asked, however, and he had no cloak of reasons with which to hide his true intentions. If there had been any twist of shame, Elrohir had not seen it. If it had been there Elrohir could only assume that to Elladan it was nothing more than an added spice, as desirable in its own way as the anticipated pleasure, and Elrohir could not find it in himself to judge Elladan for that. Not when he had taken his own pleasure buried within Elladan's shuddering body, hands clenched on hips striped with crisscrossed welts that he himself had inflicted.

*****

The midday meal was over, and Elrohir heaved a sigh of relief. Melpomaen had put in an appearance, and though he had a perfect right to dine at the high table it was not typical of him. He had said nothing to either he or his brother, had given them a friendly nod as he'd taken his seat toward the end of the table and had thereafter conversed animatedly with one of the human traders. Nothing about his manner had seemed artificial, but then again, nothing had seemed wrong when he'd taken him to the tavern, either.

His presence had made both Elrohir and Elladan uncomfortable, a fact which aggravated Elrohir to no end. Had the elf come simply to demonstrate that he was not intimidated? Had he come to intimidate them? Elrohir was not impressed either way. Melpomaen had become a serious and unpleasant distraction during a time in which he'd planned to concentrate all his attention on his brother. He didn't want to be playing games, especially not for stakes as high as Melpomaen seemed to be willing to play for. Both he and Elladan had relaxed considerably when Melpomaen had finally departed.

"We have to do something about him." Elrohir muttered as he and Elladan finished saddling their horses. It was a lovely day, and neither of them had felt like spending it cooped up indoors. Also, the temptation to return to Elladan's chambers was far too strong; it was best to take themselves beyond temptation's reach.

"There isn't much to be done." Elladan cast him a sharp glance as he vaulted into the saddle. "Unless you do see slitting his throat as an option."

Elrohir heard the sarcasm in his brother's comment, smirked. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea."

They rode on in silence, leaving the city behind them, turning their mounts away from the river, and heading for the more secluded regions of the surrounding forest. The main trails were quickly abandoned in favor of the more secret routes that they had discovered together in earlier years. Those times seemed incredibly distant to Elrohir now, the days when he and Elladan had played border patrol together like a barely remembered dream. He supposed there were still games he and his brother might play in this wilderness that was far enough away to be private while yet close enough to be safe, but these were games they had never imagined as elflings. Or at least, he had not.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Elrohir asked. Elladan's features were set, expression hard and eyes distant.

"I'm sorry, I was still mulling over the Melpomaen problem. Well, maybe not a problem. Still, I resent the way he took the upper hand on us, and I don't take well to intimidation."

"As you said, there's really nothing to be done about it."

"I know. But how I'd like to get my hands on him, if only for a few minutes."

Elrohir shrugged. "C'mon, let's think of other things for a while.

They dismounted, followed the sound of running water to a small stream a little ways to the north of them. The banks here were not bedrock and shale as at the Bruinen, but dark loam, decomposing leaves, and small twigs. Snails might be found here, both large and small, as well as turtles, frogs and toads. They had caught enough of all of those at a younger age, not to mention their fair share of catfish and bullheads. They contemplated the water for a moment, then settled down into the grass and high weeds away from the mud. Elladan grinned.

"Perhaps father is right that time is nothing more than an endless circle. Look Elrohir – here we are once more. Maybe we will explore caves next, or pretend to build a talan in the highest tree like the elves of Lothlorien."

Elrohir laughed, laid back in the grass. "I wouldn't mind building a talan out here, though I'd thought I'd outgrown the urge to have my own club house."

"Our own." Elladan shrugged. "And what is so different, now from then, really? We've come here to be by ourselves, away from others, just as we did as children."

"I guess you're right." Elrohir glanced at the bowing cattails, frowned. The nostalgia of that mixed oddly with the present reality; Elrohir found himself at a loss as to how he should assimilate it. Elladan had no such troubles; he moved over to lie beside his brother, nestled on his side with his head in the crook of Elrohir's shoulder.

"I don't want to…do that. Not here, Elladan. This place is not so secret as we thought it as elflings."

"No, it isn't." Elladan sighed. "But I wasn't thinking of doing _that_ as you put it, either."

For a while they lay together, Elrohir contemplating the sky through a lattice of boughs and green foliage, Elladan gazing into the forest. It was Elladan who broke the silence.

"What did you mean last night? When you said no warnings and no explanations?"

Elrohir blinked, nearly choked. Time overlapped strangely, the candle lit darkness of Elladan's rooms suddenly existed side by side with the peace of the forest. Birds sang, and in the distance of memory leather snapped cleanly against flesh. It was a fair question, he knew, and he also knew that Erestor had never expected them to mindlessly accept whatever he chose to do with them. There had always been the safety of the bed afterwards, the resumption of normality beyond the chamber door unless they had previously agreed to do otherwise. He didn't want to deal with it, but Elrohir was beginning to have a clearer understanding of his responsibility in this. He owed Elladan an answer to his question, even if the asking of it had made him everything suddenly surreal.

"Elrohir?"

"I'm sorry, I was thinking." He gently kissed his brother's hair, took a deep breath. "I didn't mean that I won't tell you what you've done wrong, or that I won't let you know that I'm merely entertaining myself. Only that it's not debatable, that I expect no questioning at the time. If you don't like it, you know how to stop it."

"Mmm." Elladan rubbed his cheek against the leather of Elrohir's shirt. "Alright, then."

Elrohir licked his lips. He had not spoken pompously, but inwardly he cringed at the presumption of his words. Elladan was not disturbed. On the contrary, his brother was nuzzling against him with tender ferocity. It was sensation that was threatening to drive him beyond the bounds of control, and he wrapped his arms about his brother, stilled his movements.

"I know you didn't like having to stop things with Erestor. Please don't feel that with me." He paused, swallowed hard. "It would break my heart to do you real harm, Elladan."

"I know, Elrohir." Elladan said lightly. "I trust you. Do you not trust me?"

"Of course."

"Would you… for me?" He asked, cocking his head back on Elrohir's arm to look into his face. Elrohir caught his breath, felt as if, for a split second, his heart had stopped. Finally he answered.

"Yes, for you."

"You don't really like it, do you? It's a thrill, but you're not really comfortable with it, wouldn't go out of your way for it."

Elrohir squirmed, shifted uneasily on the grass. Elladan propped himself up on one elbow to gaze down into his face. "Well?"

"No, I don't really like it. But I won't ask you for anything that I'm not willing to give. And I think you know well enough that though I may not precisely like it, I don't dislike it, either."

Elladan chuckled. "Just because your body reacts favorably? I'd say that what's going on in your mind is more important than that."

Elrohir blinked, surprised that Elladan would make the distinction. Elladan rolled his eyes. "I always love it when I am once again reminded of the low esteem in which my intellect is held. Do I really come off as being that dumb?"

"No, Elladan. Just… innocent." He winced at the irritated look on his brother's face. "No, I didn't mean it that way. It's just that you always seem to see the sunshine through the clouds, always able to see the better side to things."

"Hmmm, I can think of one elf whom that does not apply to, but we agreed not to talk about him." He raised an eyebrow, settled back against Elrohir. "But as I was saying before, if something makes you feel bad later, even if it feels good at the time… well, I cannot call that ‘liking' in any way. I don't suppose it really matters, since I'm not that comfortable on the other end of things."

Elrohir's eyes widened. "You did not… not with Erestor!"

"By the Valar, no!" Elladan laughed. "I know you light up like the crystal chandelier at midwinter festival at the thought of seeing Erestor on his knees, but that…" tears of shocked mirth streamed down Elladan's cheeks, "no, I wouldn't want to see him that way. It's just the thought of it… it doesn't appeal to me that much."

"So what does appeal to you, Elladan?" Elrohir asked, idly twirling a strand of his brother's hair.

"Being with you. Not having to think, but only feel. Being taken care of, not having to be so damned important for a while."

"I didn't know we were that important." He made a sour face.

"You know what I mean."

He remembered Melpomaen in the tavern, waving his hand dramatically and proclaiming him a prince of Imladris. "Aye, I suppose I do."

"We should be heading back." Elladan sat up, brushed his hands swiftly through his hair.

"Oh, yes." Elrohir grimaced. "We need to nod our heads wisely while the steward tells us what wine he plans to serve with supper, and then we need to stroll ostentatiously in the garden. Do you ever suspect that everything would continue to roll smoothly along even if we were all to pack up and leave?"

"I've often wondered if they'd notice we were gone." Elladan snickered, reached to pull Elrohir to his feet. "Tonight, then?"

"Tonight."

*****

Lindir was in the stables when they returned, unsaddling his own horse and preparing to brush her down. The twins stiffened momentarily, and again Elrohir caught that unsettlingly cold expression on his brother's face. It was both dismaying and reassuring to see Elladan so; on the one hand it did not fit his image of Elladan, while at the same time it was comforting to see that he was more than softness and silent submission.

"Greetings, Lindir." Elrohir swung down from the saddle, greeted the dark haired elf amiably enough. If there was a game afoot he felt confident in playing it, and if there wasn't he saw no reason to give it away.

Lindir offered them a wan smile. "So I am not the only one who thought today would be good for riding."

"Pleasant, not too hot." Elladan joined his brother, allowed the groom to lead their horses away. "But how are you, today, Lindir? Lately you've seemed rather melancholy."

Elrohir was somewhat surprised at Elladan's subtlety, but maintained his casual expression. Lindir shrugged.

"I have been difficult, haven't I?" His cheeks colored. "Let us just say there is someone who left with the Lothlorien party whose return I both look forward to and dread."

Elladan raised an eyebrow, but Lindir only smiled, looked down at his feet. "It doesn't really matter." He said, shrugged his shoulders.

"We have fallen out of touch, Lindir." Elrohir commented teasingly. "I knew not that you had a lover."

The elf's cheeks colored even more brightly, and for a moment he looked like an awkward elfling though he was older than they. "Oh, he is not mine."

They were distracted from their conversation a moment later when one of the house servants hurried in, holding her skirt up from the dirt. "Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir! We have been looking for you! The steward needs to speak to you as soon as possible; we're to have more guests and he needs your approval on the arrangements."

Elladan rolled his eyes before turning to the maid. "We'll be right there, thank you for informing us." He glanced back at Lindir. "Duty calls. Enjoy your day, Lindir. I think it's a fairly sure thing that Elrohir and I won't."

This time Lindir's smile was more genuine. "Oh, I'm sure you'll manage." He turned, led his horse away laughing softly. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged worried glances before heading back to the house.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspection, tension, Elladan and Elrohir talk

Elladan lay prone on the bed, nude, chin supported by his hands while he idly flipped through the pages of a book. He was alone, and expected to remain so until after supper. Usually he preferred the company of others, but sometimes it was good to have this hour and a half stretch between his duties as soldier and his duties as heir to Imladris to himself. It was tacitly understood between he and Elrohir that this time was his; if he wanted his brother's company he would seek him out. Otherwise this time was sacrosanct, even though he followed the rules during it.

He set the book aside, rolled over onto his back. His bed was now under the window, and he allowed his eyes to slip half shut as he watched the breeze dance with the sheer curtains. They billowed out over him like a veil that was not quite allowed to settle, like a fluttering canopy, like a cloud that had been granted gossamer solidity and drifted close enough to touch. At night they would be tied back to prevent them from dancing with the candle's flame on the bedside table, but during the day he liked them free. Elladan felt an odd lift at the sight of them flowing in transparent riot, secured while yet flapping in the wind.

The breeze was warm on his bare skin, and he smiled, realizing he was growing accustomed to spending his time in this chamber nude or mostly nude. That was one of the rules, and one he hadn't batted an eye at though he knew that it would eventually get him in trouble in one way or another. Sooner or later someone would walk in on him while he was lying naked on his bed, sitting naked at his desk, or wandering naked between bath and bedchamber. One of the maids come with a basket of fresh sheets, perhaps, or maybe even a member of the more immediate household. Glorfindel was almost as famous for walking into rooms as soon as he'd finished knocking as he was for slaying the balrog. Elladan supposed it would be embarrassing, but he felt that he could live with that. More importantly, it was not always practical or even practicable to lounge about so, not when one considered his position and the nature of his duties, and eventually Elrohir would catch him at that. The ramifications of that went beyond embarrassment, but Elladan did not find that disturbing, either. In time, he knew, this rule would go by the wayside.

The breeze died down; the curtain fell briefly over his body in a manner that was suggestively bridal before slipping coolly away. Elladan smiled. In a way it reminded him of the succession of white silk and lace shirts that Erestor had gotten for him. Elrohir had said that he came off as innocent, and he knew that Erestor saw him in that same way. It was overtly revealed in the costumes he had chosen for Elladan, more subtly in the tender endearments used, in the gentleness of his touch as they'd lain in bed together, in his disinclination to speak of anything dark or melancholy. Both he and Elrohir seemed to be engaged in preserving that innocence, danced around him in an effort to maintain it. Elladan found that laughable. He was an optimist, yes, but neither was he blind. A year spent under Glorfindel's tutelage and that of the other Imladris soldiers had revealed much of the darker side of nature to him, and he had yet to blanch and wither like a flower in late frost.

In other areas Erestor and Elrohir were not alike, not in their thinking and not in their manner. Elrohir could not maintain the cool distance that Erestor had been capable of, that detached air that had made butterflies dance in Elladan's stomach, that had incited desire and anxiety, hope and erotic dread. When they were together Elladan could hear his brother's breathing go ragged, could see the bright flush of arousal on his cheeks, the sweat that would dampen the hair at his temples and brow. Even when Elrohir's desire was not physically obvious, Elladan could feel it. They were twin brothers, bound from the womb – there was little that Elrohir could hide from him. Instead of detracting from the experience, however, Elladan found it deliciously erotic. Elrohir controlled him, and he controlled himself; Elrohir felt passion and need, yet still he waited; Elrohir felt tenderness while never stinting on discipline. Elladan knew the gentleness of his brother's heart, knew that appealing to that gentleness would avail him nothing. It was the paradox that made it rapturous, just as the unknowing had made it so with Erestor.

Elrohir was less formal than Erestor, who had always insisted upon being addressed by either his full title or as sir. Elrohir wanted to hear his name on Elladan's lips, and Elladan accommodated that without feeling any loss of structure or respect. Practical reasons lay behind both Erestor's and Elrohir's choices in this matter. Erestor's status in Imladris was the axis upon which his existence in the House of Elrond spun, an axis which passed through both bed chamber and council chamber, connected the two as the axis of a globe connects the poles. It offered a two fold thrill, to address Erestor properly in public while feeling that twist of the illicit, to address him so in private and feel a sense of dislocation.

Elrohir's reasons were less complex; his thoughts on the subject carried no hint of the erotic but were only an expression of personal comfort. Elladan has asked him about this shortly after their relationship had changed, had asked him if he'd like to be called "my lord" or "sir." Elrohir had rolled his eyes, told him that he spent all day being called "my lord" and "sir," and was glad not to have to listen to it all evening as well.

It was a reflection of different personalities and perspectives. Erestor carried over his control in the board room to the bedroom, used the one to empower the other. Elrohir's control in the bedroom compensated for his lack of control beyond its door. At night he wanted to forget Lord Elrohir son of Elrond, wanted to be only Elrohir, wanted that to be enough.

Erestor had liked watching him, and so did Elrohir, but once again there was a difference. Erestor had wanted living art or stationary ballet, had liked him poseable and decorative. There was so much to be said for simply remaining still, for the leashed anticipation he had felt while remaining so. To be caressed by only his lover's gaze, to feel the weight of dark eyes on muscles extended, flexed or lax… to simply be and to wait. It was a subtle form of control, and one that had confused him at first. Then he had grown to appreciate it, even its moments of trembling anxiety. Without a word Erestor had taught him that he was beautiful.

It was not his stillness that Elrohir prized, however. He wanted grace and sensual artistry too, but his preference was for motion. To watch Elladan kneel was not so good as to watch him crawl, head held high and back arched so that his shoulders rode high and the round globes of his buttocks were prominently displayed. When seated in Elrohir's lap Elrohir wanted to feel his response rather than have a doll to play with, when seated on the floor at his feet Elrohir wanted to feel Elladan's cheek nuzzling his thigh. The intricacies of play they had developed over the past two weeks reflected that love of motion - from the bowl currently hidden behind the bed's dust ruffle that would be filled with either fresh milk or wine, to the belled collar that was most certainly not supposed to jingle when Elladan moved.

*****

His surroundings had changed though his position had not. Elladan lay on Elrohir's bed, hands laced behind his head watching his brother's fruitless search for his spare set of official robes. Something had gone wrong with the laundry, and that combined with Elrohir's forgetfulness in sending his robes had led to this minor calamity. Elladan's simple suggestion had been to let it go for a day; he doubted if anyone would be too shocked to see Elrohir out of his official vestments for one day of paper filing and letter writing. That had not gone over very well, and now Elladan settled for listening to the muffled curses issuing from the back of Elrohir's wardrobe while keeping his comments to himself.

It didn't matter since they were in Elrohir's rooms rather than in his, but Elladan felt no inclination to needle his brother. It had been a difficult couple of weeks for Elrohir. Both of them had expected that by the time the first work day after the tavern debacle commenced Melpomaen would have found someone to replace him at the secretary's desk. Doing so would not have endeared him to Erestor who most certainly did not like seeing his orders countermanded, but neither of them received the impression that Melpomaen would be intimidated by that. It would certainly have been easier for all involved if Melpomaen had made himself scarce, but the secretary had not done so. That first Monday morning had dawned, and when Elrohir had made his way to the office he had been greeted by a more sunnily disposed though no less taciturn Melpomaen.

"Tense" was the word Elrohir had used to describe it. Elladan could think of several other words that would have described his feelings had he been in Elrohir's place, and "tense" was far to the bottom of the list.

He felt none of the anxiety that plagued Elrohir insofar as Melpomaen was concerned. The elf had his reasons, but Elladan trusted his sense that those reasons were not threatening to them. Instinct told him that the unvoiced threat behind Melpomaen's actions was merely a cover, the automatic behavior of a person accustomed to protecting actions in the present while also securing a bit of insurance for any unseen future difficulties. Even that did not disturb Elladan greatly. Whatever it was that Melpomaen was working toward only involved them peripherally, and as Elrohir had said, Melpomaen was not one with any great interest in money or political power.

What bothered Elladan was that his brother had been made a cat's paw, that someone was being manipulated through this, though he knew not whom, that their silence had been so swiftly and efficiently ensured. It also bothered him that Elrohir had walked right into it, had needed no invitation to step from the skillet to the fire. It wasn't like his brother to launch a frontal assault with so little forethought or planning, certainly not like him to allow another person to get under his skin to the point where he would do so.

Elladan had asked him about it, and had been more than a little offended at his reply. Elrohir had muttered something about wanting to be more like Elladan for a change, had wanted to handle things quickly, simply, and straight forwardly. Elladan had scathingly told him that straight forwardness and suicidal tendencies were not the same, and that perhaps Elrohir should try to remember that he, Elladan, had kept his relationship with Erestor a perfect secret for close to two years. And that the revelation of that affair had not been his slip.

"It's not here." Elrohir glared, slammed the wardrobe door shut.

"In the trunk, maybe? Since it is your spare?"

"Doesn't matter." Elrohir heaved a disgusted sigh, slouched into the cushioned chair by the window. "If it's in the trunk that means it's folded, wrinkled, and smelling of moth balls. I should have looked for it after lunch instead of waiting until evening."

Elladan shrugged. Elrohir's clothing was not high on his list of worries, and he honestly couldn't understand his brother's genuine irritation over this. It was probably the stress; as the days passed Elrohir had been growing increasingly short tempered.

"Do you want to go back to my room?" Elladan asked, and Elrohir tiredly shook his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He pressed his finger tips to his forehead, rubbed in small circles. It was a familiar gesture, one that Elladan knew reflected either tension, the onset of a headache, or both. "I feel like I've been angry with everything and everyone lately. If I want something to kick, I'll get a dog."

Elladan chuckled. He wasn't that and never had been, not for Erestor and not for Elrohir. It gratified him to know that Elrohir did not see him as something he could take his frustrations out on.   
"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a cat? A nice, golden sand colored cat with a bell on his collar and a bowl of milk by his bed?"

"Oh, you." Elrohir glanced up at Elladan through the lattice of his fingers, smiled in affectionate amusement. "Is that what you are? A cat?"

"I could tic off the points of comparison, but that would be immodest." He adopted a prim expression that surprised a laugh from Elrohir, and Elladan grinned, pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed.

"Well, then, I shall do it for you. You're silent, like a cat. You're graceful and elegant, like a cat. You're sensual like a cat, and you're beautiful like a cat. Exotic like a cat and, like a cat, you have claws."

"But no fangs?"

"I would strongly object to certain activities if you had fangs."

Elladan's grin widened. "So, no rough, nubbly tongue either."

"I find absolutely no fault with your tongue, Elladan." His hand had dropped to the arm of the chair, his posture had relaxed. Elladan felt a sense of satisfaction as he watched his brother's worries fade into the background. He inclined his head, purred suggestively, and Elrohir's expression turned playfully thoughtful.

"Here kitty, kitty." Elrohir whispered, and Elladan rose, crossed the distance between them and settled neatly at his brother's feet.

"Back to my room then?"

"Yes, I think you've persuaded me."


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex psychobabble, sex

Velvet blackness. Elladan had thought that it would be different with Elrohir, easier, more comfortable. He trusted Elrohir with his life, his heart, his soul. He had known Elrohir since birth, knew everything about him, could ride the waves of his emotions, and could almost read his mind. What possible difference could a blind fold make between them when they had shared the darkness of the womb together, had shared both light and darkness ever since?

It did make a difference. His entire body thrummed with electric tension, his senses were unnecessarily stretched to their outermost limits to maintain that low key, psychic contact that could tell him of feeling and presence but little more. It told him nothing beyond what he already knew – that Elrohir was there, that Elrohir loved him, that Elrohir desired him. It should have been a relief to know those things beyond doubt, but within his darkness that knowledge was like drift wood in a raging river, something that could keep him afloat but that could not quell the storm.

"You're doing very well, Elladan."

Elladan immediately focused on his brother's voice, knew with a warrior's instincts exactly where he was standing, could have turned and taken his hand unerringly. Elrohir was behind and a bit to the side of him in his blind spot, though such positioning was hardly relevant at the moment. He relaxed somewhat, concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply.

"You used to cry when Erestor did this to you. Why don't you cry now?"

He licked his lips, exhaled, inhaled. Spoke. "I trust you, Elrohir."

"You didn't trust Erestor?"

"Yes, but…" He hesitated, bit his lower lip. He could sense Elrohir's frown, felt the mix of enjoyment and irritation.

"But what?"

"I was frightened." A whisper.

"You were frightened." Movement now, to his left and then in front of him. He could feel Elrohir's breath on his face, clenched his eyes shut behind the blindfold. "What were you afraid of?"

"That he would leave me. This way."

"And you think I would not do that to you?" The words came out flat, with no indication of feeling. Elladan reached mentally, felt for the emotions that could not be hidden from him. Love. Desire. Did those things deny the possibility that Elrohir was suggesting? His lower lip quivered.

"I don't know."

"Did he ever bind you and blindfold you?"

"Yes." His voice had taken on a faintly tremulous quality. Again he concentrated on his breathing.

"And do you think he would have left you that way? Do you think I would?"

"No, not like that." There was more surety in his tone this time. He did not believe that either of them would leave him blind, helpless and alone.

"On that you're right. You know you're safe." Elrohir paused, leaned in to kiss him. His fingers brushed across the blindfold. "But you let him do this to you, and you let me do it. Even though you're frightened to be left this way. Or, more to the point, you're afraid of being found this way."

"Yes." He clenched his teeth together, blinked against the sting of tears. He would not cry. No, not this time, not so easily or so quickly.

"Found by one of the maids, or maybe Glorfindel. Or maybe even father. Just how would you explain that, Elladan? What reason would you give for standing here naked and blindfolded with your hands folded behind your back?"

He swallowed hard, tried to formulate a reply.

"Would you say that your owner had ordered you to do it, and that you are obedient to him?"

Elladan tried to bow his head, but Elrohir caught his chin, kept him facing forward. "I don't know that I'd say anything at all." His voice was small, almost that of a lost child.

"Not good enough." A hint of annoyance there, and something else that Elladan could not quite identify. "You'd have to say something. Imagine… Oh, imagine that I am Father. And I want to know, Elladan, what are you doing? What is the meaning of this? I want to know, and I want to know right now!"

Elladan's breath hitched, his cheeks were scarlet beneath the black band of the blindfold. The tears he had willed not to shed were falling, not skating cleanly down but absorbing into blackness. The velvet was no longer soft against his skin but wet and clinging, comfortless. He swallowed repeatedly, struggled to keep his frame from trembling.

"I'm sorry…" He choked out, not knowing what to say but knowing that something was required. "I cannot explain…" The bell on his collar jingled faintly, a small sound that was barely audible over the sound of his breathing. Elrohir's fingers danced across the hollow of his throat, muted the bell. He stepped closer still, kissed Elladan's cheek.

"You are very brave, Elladan, very courageous indeed to be so frightened and to submit anyway. I value the trust you place in me."

Elladan shivered, leaned into his brother's embrace. Hands moved from shoulders to wrists, lips slipped from mouth to the lobe of his ear. Then Elrohir's hand was moving from hands to hip, over and around, teasing lightly over his cock. He gritted his teeth, fought back a desperate moan.

"I know you're afraid, but would you be aroused also, as you are now? If such a thing were to happen?"

Elladan started to shake his head, remembered the bell. "No, Elrohir." He wasn't sure if he was responding to the question or pleading for mercy.

"Well then, this is where you prove it." The hand on his cock was removed, met its partner at the back of Elrohir's neck. "First we'll remove this collar before you get yourself into more trouble."

A wave of nervous excitement washed over him at those words. Apparently Elrohir had not overlooked his lapse, had not chosen to disregard the small jingle that had betrayed his anxiety. He sensed rather than heard footsteps moving away from him, pausing and then returning. Again he felt Elrohir's touch on his sex, but this time there was something else, too, touch of leather and metal, slickness of oil.

"You aren't supposed to be this eager when this goes on, but I think we can manage." Elrohir purred, sliding his oiled hand up and down Elladan's length one final time. "Judging by what I see now, I think you're going to make a liar of yourself."

Elrohir had not teased him to full arousal, but far enough to make the process of slipping the series of connected rings around his cock uncomfortable. They fit, but only barely. The leather strap was fitted around his balls and tightened, though not unbearably.

"This shouldn't be a problem for you if you don't find any of this arousing." Elrohir said softly. "And it's also a favor to you. Imagine if someone were to find you thusly, maybe Glorfindel. You wouldn't need to think of something to say to say to him, now, would you? What you're doing is rather apparent."

Footsteps moving away, at first intentionally audibly and then… silence. Click of the door lock, the faintest breath of a breeze as the door opened and then closed. Another click.

There was no precision or control to Elladan's frantic, empathic reach. It was more of a lunge, a half panicked scrambling for his brother's presence. He felt only the low key hum of connection that he could key into any time, anywhere, regardless of his brother's distance, felt only the rhythmic pulse of love and desire. He knew it might only be a trick, that Elrohir might be no further from him than the chamber door, but he had no way of knowing beyond a doubt. Did love deny the possibility that Elrohir would do such a thing to him? Did desire make it possible? 

The blindfold no longer served to mask his tears; beneath it his cheeks were flushed and wet. Elladan forced himself to breathe evenly and deeply, refused to sob like a child. He thought of what Elrohir had said, saw Glorfindel with hellish mental clarity rapping briskly at the door while simultaneously turning the knob. It didn't matter that the door was locked and that Glorfindel was not even in Imladris. Now it was down to words and images, down to his memory playing tricks on him as it so often did in the dark. Was the door locked? Was Elrohir in the room? And what would happen if neither was true, what would happen if Glorfindel were here, and if he were to walk in on him so? What would he, Elladan do? More importantly, what would Glorfindel do?

The heat that had begun to recede at the touch of cold metal returned, coiled low in his belly like a beautiful, poisonous snake. Dismay and desire filled him, confusion and lust mixing in a familiar, shameful blend that tasted indescribably bitter, tantalizingly sweet. The rings around his cock suddenly felt tight, teasingly tight and then uncomfortably tight. He bit back a whimper, again cast frantically about himself for Elrohir, again sensed only --love-desire-love-desire-love-desire.--

He wondered if Elrohir was pleased, if Elrohir was watching, if Elrohir knew how expertly his own thoughts had taken him to the place Elrohir had meant for him to go. Behind velvet darkness he saw a vision of wide blue eyes, alabaster skin and golden hair, saw that vision staring in shock at a vision of his own. Would he stumble backwards from that vision, grace departed, slam the door and run? Would he step forward, rip away the blindfold and leave Elladan blinking, eyes stinging in the sudden light, would his sky blue eyes be full of disgust and incipient questions? Or would he step in to do other things, would he close and lock the door behind him, say nothing so that Elladan would not know he was not with Elrohir until he felt the first touch?

Elladan's heart skipped a beat, resumed at a faster, more frenetic rhythm. Discomfort verged on pain, a hell of unabated urgency stymied by utterly uncompromising, biting steel. Golden hair instead of mahogany brushing over his shoulders, a soft voice whispering in his ear before bending him over --I think you'll agree, Elladan, that it would not be in your best interest to object to this…-- Followed by ecstasy, no safe word and no way out, captured yet somehow still safe.

A sob did pass his lips then, though whether of pain, desire, or humiliation he had no idea. His fingernails bit into the backs of his hands, and when Elrohir's hand settled on his shoulder he nearly screamed.

"You are so easy, Elladan. I like you this way."

"Please, Elrohir…" He whispered, and Elrohir pressed against his back, wrapped an arm about his waist. His hand drifted lower, stroked lightly between the steel rings. Elladan moaned.

"Please what? Please let you continue your fantasy of being ravished by Glorfindel in my absence?" He didn't wait for a response. "I've been too easy on you. Is that what you really want, Elladan? For me to come in here and just take you, no games and no discussion?" His fingers moved back and forth, nails clicking dully against metal. "Just take you any way I wish to, make you do what I want?"

"If that is what you desire…" Elladan's words were ragged, half way between a hoarse whisper and a moan.

"No, none of that." He squeezed, and Elladan tilted his head back on Elrohir's shoulder, gritted his teeth. "I'm not Erestor. No pretty word games that allow you to never have to admit to anything. Tell me if that is what you want."

"Yes, Elrohir, yes." He said, and he was beyond caring that he was sobbing, beyond caring that he had lost his last shred of dignity, beyond even guessing if Elrohir was pleased as his hands were guided away from his back, as he was bent forward, as he gripped his ankles.

*****

He lay nestled against Elrohir's side, erect member pressed against Elrohir's hip. He had not thought he would be able to reach climax with that vicious device binding him, and he had been right. It had taken close to an hour after Elrohir had finished with him for his arousal to subside sufficiently for its removal, and that abatement had had more to do with the steady ache and plain physical exhaustion than with loss of interest. Now that desire had returned, and he suspected that Elrohir had no intention of relieving it.

"Elrohir?" He asked softly. His brother shifted, pressed his lips to Elladan's hair.

"Hmm?"

"Would you ever really leave me alone?" The question came out sounding hesitant and small. Elrohir pulled him closer, ignored the slide of hard flesh against him and the corresponding hiss.

"I would never put you in such a position that you might be found by anyone else, Elladan. Never."

It was not quite the same as giving him a no, and Elladan knew it. He considered pressing the point, didn't. The space that existed in the aftermath of their joining was always like this, always colored in the twilight tones that lay between what they had done and who they were beyond this door. Warm, loving, yet not entirely just Elladan-and-Elrohir yet, still more master and slave than lovers, brothers. Tilting back toward that, but not quite there.

"Can we make love?" That he had made it a question rather than simply initiating physical passion reflected those twilight colors, as did Elrohir's uneasy stiffening as he made his reply.

"No, Elladan. Your collar."

He sighed, settled his head against Elrohir's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Maybe… again?"

Elladan understood what he was suggesting, and he also understood that Elrohir was wavering. Erestor wouldn't have wavered. Erestor would have kissed and cuddled him, held him close and whispered endearments, would have released the reins enough to allow conversation to go where it would and enough for the shift of power to begin tilting back. He would not, however, have changed his mind about anything that had gone before, would not have even considered letting both Elladan and himself off the hook. Erestor had had more practice.

"Whatever you want, Elrohir."

"Alright, then." He turned Elladan onto his back, took his hand and guided it to his cock. "Talk to me. Tell me about how it started. And touch yourself."

"How it started?" He asked hesitantly. His fingers circled his cock, squeezed gently, slid more slowly than he actually liked, slow to please Elrohir.

"Not for you and Erestor, or you and me. Just how it started for you. When you first began to want me to be more to you than a brother." He gently stroked Elladan's brow, gazed into his eyes. "Erestor said you wanted me before you wanted him, that he saw it in your eyes."

"I… I don't know, Elrohir…" He closed his eyes, felt their twin pulses --heat-shame-love-desire.--

"How did you feel?"

Elladan shivered, remembered. It had been a blur of confusion and denial, of waking from dreams that had left him shaking, left him in a condition not so different from that which he was currently in. --Heat-shame-love-desire,-- and utterly grateful that his brother could not read him the way he could read Elrohir. Now those dreams seemed almost innocent, sweet dreams of lying under or over Elrohir, of kissing him, of making love in the gardens or by the river's falls. Those dreams had ended in silent, midnight explosions, midnight like black velvet and explosive as any orgasmic rush he'd ever felt in this room or in Erestor's.

Finally he had shoved it all away from himself, had ignored and denied it, done it for the sake of his own sanity. He had forgotten it, as best as he could, had told himself that when his eyes lingered over long on his twin brother that it was brotherly affection, admiration, anything but heat, shame, love, and desire.

"I felt ashamed, Elrohir. It wasn't good…" He bit his lip, understood the contradiction of his words in the rigid heat under his hand. "I thought if you knew you would hate me."

"Never, lirimaer." Elrohir whispered, breath tickling Elladan's cheek. "I could never hate you." His hand crept downward over the plain of Elladan's taut belly, over to hip, between his thighs. "Tell me what you imagined, what you fantasized or dreamt."

And Elladan did. The words came slowly at first, then more quickly, finally tumbling over each other and at last trailing away. Elrohir's fingers were pressing between his thighs, into his darkened cleft, into him, and Elladan knew not when Elrohir had brought out the oil, only knew that the fingers within him were hot and slick and smooth, merciless. Words were not possible, but Elrohir no longer demanded words. His hips bucked upward, and he writhed against Elrohir's body, against hot sheets and between his hand and his brother's. Writhed, cried out, reached his fulfillment with eyes closed in a darkness that was little different from black velvet or velvet midnight.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen thinks.

They were in Elladan's room again, and he had seen enough to know what that meant. He felt no disgust for them, though he did feel quite a bit for himself. He knew everything he needed to know; it was below him to track their movements and the progress of their relationship. It was unnecessary. It showed insecurity, and a pathetic species of desperation that he did not want to see in himself. The need to know was insupportable, however, and he knew that he would not be able to gather any further information from the twins directly.

He stretched out on the firm mattress, extended his arms. He could just barely brush the bed posts if he stretched, but he could not curl his fingers around them. This was one of the things he loved about Erestor's bed, it's width, the way he could make himself comfortable in it without ever crowding or disturbing his partner. It had been a long time since he'd lain in it, and he'd missed it. Lying in it alone was not the same, but it was better than nothing. He could close his eyes, stretch cat-like on the coverlet, pretend that Erestor was just a little bit late, but that he'd soon be joining him.

A little bit late. That brought a small, bitter smile to his lips. Oh yes, Erestor was indeed late, close to a year late by his reckoning. An entire year, and it had all begun so simply, so innocuously with four words _Aren't they beautiful, melethron?_ And what had he said? _Yes, Erestor, dark like their father and with all their mother's grace and beauty._

Why had he said that? He cursed himself silently, glared up at the ceiling. Why hadn't he turned cold and shrewish, sharp tongued with jealousy? Why had he continued to treat the matter so off handedly, treated it like nothing more than a small and temporary fascination, no different from Erestor's fascination with art and music? He had always thought himself intelligent, but he hadn't been intelligent enough, had he? Though he imagined he must have seemed very sophisticated, so very enlightened as he'd bantered casually with his lover about how lovely they were, how they would look together, how it might be to have them in bed. He had only been speaking hypothetically, but he had waited too long to make that clear.

Erestor had accused him of this. _If you had argued with me, fought, railed…_ When Erestor had said those words he had gathered his dignity about him, had refused to take any responsibility. _No. Do not try to blame me for the situation you have gotten yourself into._ He had said, and that had sounded right, it had a ring of truth about it. Erestor had not debated the point with him, probably because Erestor had been sinking in his own quagmire of guilt. But was their fault to be assigned to him, fault for being passive, fault for being decadently sophisticated enough to not raise so much as an eyebrow at his lover's more and more frequent mentions of the delectable twins? Should he have argued, fought, railed?

He hadn't wanted to come off as jealous, nagging, and suspicious. He hadn't wanted to push Erestor away. Perhaps Erestor had interpreted his cool distance as uncaring, had accepted his silence as advance consent. If that was true, then he supposed he did have to shoulder some of the blame, though he would never admit it. To admit to that would be to let Erestor off the hook, it would be to allow him to shrug his shoulders and glibly say, _We both made mistakes._ That was unconscionable, could not be allowed to happen. He wanted Erestor back, but there had to be an understanding, had to be more than an off hand apology offered at the end.

He was yet a young elf, but he understood justice, understood the necessity of placing blame. It was not something that others spoke of, nor anything that he would be so foolish as to bring up. Others frowned at the idea, liked to think themselves above such things, but no one really was. In civil matters it was necessary to identify and punish criminals. In personal matters it was equally necessary to know who had done what to whom, to identify the faults. To do otherwise was to roll over and take it, to allow oneself to become a door mat. _Oh yes, Erestor, you've hurt me terribly, but now I want only to forget it, pretend it never happened, we'll say we're both equally at fault._ Easy to say, impossible to practice. He had only to look as far as Lord Elrond's study to the terse missives occasionally sent between Imladris and Mirkwood to know that blame has to be placed, that history never dies, and that though forgiveness might be possible there was no way to forget.

For a very brief time before coming to Imladris he had worked in the palace of Mirkwood. He knew the history though he had never known the king, knew the story that lay behind that cold facade, that unending bitterness. He could sympathize. Insofar as he was concerned, Thranduil's only mistake was in misplacing the blame. What else could he do, though, with Gil-Galad dead, when the errors made lay more heavily on his father's side than on that of the elven king, when he had been there, too, and had watched his father die? Thranduil could not blame himself any more than he could, lying there on Erestor's bed. Blaming Elrond did not stop the acid of hate and loss from eating Thranduil, but it was a slower process than what might result from blaming himself. Thranduil had Elrond, and he… well, he had the twins.

Erestor said he was sorry, said that it was close to ending. Elrohir said the same thing, and the noises he had heard through Elladan's door seemed to support this. That he had sunk to such levels in order to verify his lover's words left him feeling ashamed, obscurely wounded. Setting Elrohir up had not seemed so terrible. All is fair in love and war, after all, and Erestor was his. If the twins spent the next few years trembling in their shoes and wondering what would happen next, that was absolutely fine with him. Let them wonder and worry, let them imagine conspiracies and shake in terrified dread every time they were summoned to their father's study. Perhaps they didn't deserve it – they knew only half of a story they thought they had the whole of – but he could not bring himself to care. It was not a complete misplacement of blame, but it was enough, a bit of added cruelty that did not make him feel better but that allowed him to feel that he'd gotten a little of his own back.

No, it was not that which bothered him, but his behavior since. He knew where they went and when they were together. He was not above finding reasons to pass their doors at night to determine if they spent their evenings alone or together, asleep or at play. It sickened him, and not only because he was behaving like a spy or a voyeur. It sickened him because he had no interest in their doings, had no perverse urge to listen lustfully to their games of passion. He watched and listened because he was in terror that they would have a falling out, that the plan that had been so carefully laid might go awry. If he could have wooed Elladan for Elrohir he would have, and didn't that say something about him? Something about dependence, about self respect laying in careless tatters?

There had been moments of anger, of course, most of them in Erestor's presence. Also, he had taken his own lover, if that was what one could call it. Not a lover, really, but a long time friend who was not averse to occasionally sharing his bed. Erestor knew of this, and had said nothing. He had neither right nor room to say anything, no right to demand abstinence of him while he played with his elflings. In a fit of pique he had almost invited his friend to share Erestor's bed; that had been on the first night after the Imladris delegation had left for ‘Lorien. In the end he hadn't done it, but the thought had more than crossed his mind. Why not? Elladan and Elrohir had slept in that bed, had slept with Erestor in it.

The idea that love is not always enough was a foreign concept to the elves. Even so, he knew his friend thought he should give up on this, thought that it had gone beyond what could be forgiven and forgotten. In a way it had. He knew he would not be able to trust Erestor in the way he once had, would never again be so willing to hold out his hands for the cuffs, certainly would be unable to return that treatment. Not when his anger lay so close to the surface, not when it had blended into his love to create this miasma of frightened love and desperate fury, not when he smiled in his new, bitter way when he imagined peeling the skin off of Erestor's back with whip or flail. Sometimes he wanted to hide in Erestor's arms until it all went away, and sometimes he wanted to kill him with his bare hands.

He had told Erestor that he was almost out of time, that he needed to make his decision, and soon. Erestor had apparently taken that to heart, and for that he was deeply grateful, grateful because his words had been a lie. He would wait forever for Erestor if necessary, just as he waited in darkened corridors now, waited by doors closed and locked, listened for the moans and cries of ecstasy that meant he had a chance.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins fail to mess with Melpomaen's head. More sex psychobabble.

In only a matter of days the delegation to Lothlorien would be returning. Elrohir anticipated that day with both pleasure and dread. It would be good to have Melpomaen out of his sight, good to feel that he was doing something useful again. He had not enjoyed his month spent as place holder for his father's chief advisor, had particularly loathed the humiliation of knowing that his secretary knew the job better than he did. The personal tension between them did not help matters; the knowing smiles and careful comments that could be taken in a variety of ways were enough to keep Elrohir on the edge of nervous explosion. Erestor's return would put an end to that.

Erestor's return also meant confrontation, and not with the chief advisor. It that was all, Elrohir wouldn't have been concerned. The time when Erestor had been capable of frightening him had long since passed, and it took no particular gathering of courage to face him down. Confronting Elladan was another matter entirely, and that was what Erestor's return demanded of him.

He was not prepared to allow matters to continue as they had been any longer. Elrohir could no longer imagine lying in that wide bed, he and Elladan with Erestor between them. Elladan… he wanted Elladan only for himself, and himself only for Elladan. Whatever game Erestor was playing was one thing, and he had promised sincerely to do nothing that would cause harm to his brother. It was in the continuance of this awkward triangle that he saw the potential for harm, however, and not only for Elladan. For all of them. A decision had to be made.

"Would you like me to take those over to Lord Elrond's office?" Melpomaen gestured at the small stack of papers on the corner of Erestor's desk, and Elrohir shook his head.

"No. Let me finish sorting the rest." He spoke neutrally, eyes flat as he met the secretary's gaze. Melpomaen, as usual, was utterly unfazed though lately it seemed to Elrohir that there was something new in his expression, a certain lightness that went oddly with his shadowed eyes.   
There were only a few things left to look over, and Elrohir flipped through the pages impatiently. The sun was settling lower, and he was desperate to escape the newly claustrophobic office.

"Elrohir!" He glanced up, startled, as the office door swung open. Elladan strode in, still dressed in the greens and grays of the Imladris soldiers. He did not spare Melpomaen so much as a glance as he crossed the room. "I finished up early and thought I'd drop in since you said you wanted to talk to me."

"Maybe after dinner? I'm a little busy at the moment." He darted a quick glance at the secretary, but Melpomaen was still intent upon his own work.

"Mmmm, what do you have here?" Elladan perched familiarly on the edge of the desk, and Elrohir felt a moment of emotional vertigo. How many times had Elladan done this in the past? What else might Elladan have done on this desk? He flicked his tongue over his lower lip, put up no resistance as his brother looked over the remaining documents.

"This isn't busy. Busy-work is more like it." He dropped the papers back onto the desk top, cast his brother a quizzical look. Elrohir's jaw tightened, and Elladan grinned.

"Oh, you mean him." He inclined his head toward Melpomaen, and Elrohir could see devil lights dancing in Elladan's eyes. The narrow expression he wore rendered his features wild and dangerous, upsetting, sexy. Frightening. Elrohir clutched the quill he'd been holding tighter, mastered his own features sufficiently to deliver a stern glare that went entirely unheeded.

"But we don't have any secrets from him, now do we? I daresay we can speak freely, you won't mind, will you, Melpomaen?"

The last question was tossed casually over his shoulder. The secretary ignored it, neither attempting to sink back in his seat nor dignifying the question with a response. Elladan shrugged, his tight smile never wavering, and Elrohir could not help feeling a sort of sick admiration for Melpomaen. The sharpened edges of his brother's comments were not even aimed at him, and he felt intimidated.

"Or are you maybe tired of talk? Not interested in hearing anymore, too boring?"

"Elladan…" Elrohir said, rising from his seat. His brother's smile was razor edged; wherever this was heading, he was certain it was someplace he'd rather not go to. Elladan had turned toward Melpomaen, now leaning against the desk more than sitting on it, and Elrohir hurried to face Elladan, to try to distract him. The broad smile that met him curdled his outrage; his heart skipped a beat.

"How about this, then? They say that actions speak louder than words."

And then Elladan's lips were on his, Elladan's arms were around his waist, pulling him close, closer, too close. He smelled of leather and steel, of the dust from the practice yard, of horses and clean sweat. His lips were smooth; they tasted of salt, and they did not meet his in a gentle, chaste kiss but in a demanding assault. Elrohir clutched at Elladan's shoulders as his lips parted, seemingly of their own accord, neither returning the embrace nor pushing him away. He felt frozen, utterly static save for the frantic motion of lips and tongue, motion that his mind was screaming at him to stop immediately. At last he was able to heed those screams. He pulled away from Elladan in gasping, half furious confusion.

"After dinner, your room?" Elladan asked, smiling. 

For a moment Elrohir had no idea what his brother was speaking of. He blinked, finally recalled where this encounter had started. Nodded. At his desk Melpomaen was still working unconcernedly on a response to a letter. 

"Good, I'll see you then." Elladan left without another word. Silence broken only by the scritch of a quill tip on parchment descended and held for several long minutes.

"Are you ready for me to take those documents now, Elrohir?" Melpomaen asked in his usual, bland tone, and Elrohir burst into hysterical laughter before fleeing the room.

*****

Elladan, Elrohir grimly reflected, was getting the best of both worlds. He had known good and well that his actions were sure to anger him, had known that at some point later in the evening he'd be apologizing. Elrohir had found that "I'm sorry" meant precious little in the face of the games they played, meant nothing at all when the actions that led to those words were planned with both apology and penance already in mind. So Elladan had specified that he wanted their discussion to take place in Elrohir's room. So what? There would be other nights, and though he would try he knew this would not be quickly or easily forgotten.

Elladan carried his own weight of guilt and shame. Elrohir knew all about Elladan's guilt and shame, had coerced, beaten and fucked that knowledge from him over the course of that long, long month. He'd done it because Elladan wanted him to do it, and more and more often Elrohir found himself impatient with the whole thing.

It was every thrill and dark fantasy come true, every thought he'd ruthlessly strangled while watching Elladan with Erestor returned to life. Once upon a time he had stood in front of his brother, had stared at marks covering back, buttocks, thighs, chest, and abdomen. He had stared and felt that it was alright to stare or even touch because Erestor had turned his brother into something beautiful and inanimate. Now he watched but did not stare; touched, but did not see Elladan as inanimate though he most certainly was still beautiful. Elladan had his own agenda, one that included being stared at and touched, and it was that which Elrohir had become impatient with.

Through Elrohir Elladan was achieving a form of wholeness that did not set well with Elrohir at all. Transgression, judgment, punishment and forgiveness all in one. Elladan could give in to his desires because he had Elrohir to make him pay for them, had Elrohir to make the rapture come again, had Elrohir to continue the circle of pleasure and shame, of treatment in keeping with behavior that he only told himself he could accept. And now it seemed that he could do as he pleased in other areas as well. Why not? Elrohir would take care of it, take care of him.

He pushed his chamber door open and was not surprised to find Elladan already there, sprawled across his bed. There was still a hint of that light in his eyes, but not so close to the surface as before. Not faded, but hidden. Elrohir sighed.

"What was that all about?" He did not raise his voice. He was too tired for that, too tired for an argument.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Seeing him upset me, and it seemed like the thing to do at the time. Are you upset?"

It was a question he thought he already knew the answer to, and Elrohir gave him the opposite. "No, not really."

That was a lie; he'd been furious, and tiredness and stress had had more to do with that emotion's wane than any change of heart. The confused look on Elladan's face was worth it, though.

"You're not?"

"Maybe a little." He conceded. "I liked the way you kissed me, though I daresay your choice of venue was questionable."

No lie there. Elladan had never touched him so possessively, had never exercised his right to touch Elrohir as Elrohir so often touched him. If it had not been for his panic and confusion, that kiss would have been utterly intoxicating. Elrohir smiled, slumped onto his vanity chair.

"You wanted to talk to me about something?" Elrohir recognized this for a return to safer, more familiar ground. He ignored the question.

"Would you kiss me like that again? Without an audience?"

"I suppose I could…" Elladan said slowly as he rose from the bed. Elrohir's smile broadened. Elladan had bathed since their encounter in the office, would no longer smell like leather and steel. Instead he'd smell of lilac scented soap and bath oils, of the sweet herbs he used to wash his hair. The rough material of a soldier's uniform had been replaced by a simple linen robe; his warrior's braids were gone, and the still damp mahogany tresses would cling wetly to their faces.

Elladan stood over him, and Elrohir look up expectantly. His brother's expression was not slyly narrow, his eyes were no longer dancing with devil fire. There was a sense of detachment now, and the look he wore was one of speculation. He pulled Elrohir to his feet, locked his arms around him, kissed him hard and aggressively. It was not the same, though; there was no electric thrill, no giddy feeling of weightlessness, of reckless spin. Elladan held him, but in this he had once again become a doll, an automaton. Their lips parted, and neither of them were out of breath.

 _This isn't the way it's supposed to work, is it Elladan?_ Elrohir thought. _You're not supposed to be rewarded for stepping out of line; you're supposed to be punished. And if I won't do it, how will you ease your conscience?_

"Make love to me, Elladan." He whispered the words into his brother's ear, heard the inrush of harsh breath. The words were not a command but a request, soft and pleading, nearly purred in tones of liquid velvet. "Please make love to me."

"Elrohir…" His hands moved upward to grip Elrohir's shoulders, but Elrohir refused to be pushed away, clung to Elladan with gentle neediness. He shifted back enough to look into his brother's eyes, saw the turmoil there, a silent shattering from the inside out.

"Please do not let Erestor be the only one to have had me so."

"Erestor…" Elladan closed his eyes tightly, whispered the name. "No, Elrohir, don't ask this of me. I… I can't."

Anger flared, and he tamped it down through main force of will. Even so, his words came out clipped, sharp. "Why not? Are you saving it for him?"

"No!" Elladan said. His lower lip had begun to quiver; he still had not opened his eyes. Elrohir felt his anger drain from him as he held his shaking brother in his arms, realized the extent of Elladan's feelings. "He left me, Elrohir! I made love to him, and he left me. He said that he loved me, he gave himself to me, and that night… he was gone."

"Oh, Elladan, no, I will never do that to you." Elrohir tightened his arms around his brother, no longer softly seductive but comforting, reassuring with warmth and touch. Inwardly he cursed himself for his blindness, cursed Erestor for his carelessness. "I promise you that I will be here every night and every morning, every hour in between. I will not leave you, Elladan."

"He said that, too."

"I am not him. Perhaps… perhaps, Elladan, we are better off without him."

Elladan said nothing for a long moment. Elrohir could feel him trembling, sensed the effort being made to control his breathing, to control his raging emotions. At last Elladan raised his head from his brother's shoulder, looked him in the eye. Tears swam in those dark depths, but none of them had fallen. Elrohir felt an upsurge of pride, knowing that they would not fall.

"This is what you wanted to talk to me about, isn't it?"

"Yes." He met Elladan's gaze levelly. "You're mine, Elladan."

"Yours." He echoed softly, and Elrohir smiled, offered a brief, chaste kiss.

"And I am yours. I don't want to be with anyone else, Elladan, and I don't want to share you with anyone else. I won't do it anymore. I love you, Elladan."

He could see the relief written plain on his brother's face, the lifting of worry and pain that he had not suspected even existed. "Good, Elrohir. I love you, too."

When Elladan kissed him again it was not the dominating kiss he had bestowed upon Elrohir in the office, nor was it a detached fulfilling of an explicit request. Instead it was slow and thorough, explorative, sensual. He tasted Elrohir as if he was fine wine, as if he was rich chocolate.

"Do you still want me to make love to you?" He asked, and Elrohir nodded, gazed back at Elladan, eyes wide.

"Like you told me last week, Elladan, the way you imagined it in your dreams. Make it real."

Elladan hesitated, but only for a moment, and his hesitation held nothing of the fright and discomfort he had shown earlier. "As you wish, melethron nin."


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir returns some things to Erestor's rooms and bumps into Melpomaen.

The advance runners had arrived around noon; Lord Elrond and his entourage were a day and a half behind them. Their time of relative carelessness was almost over, and though Elladan was looking forward to seeing his family he regretted the loss of this time. It had not been perfect, and it had not been peaceful. Even so, for a little while they had been the only lords of Imladris, and only a modicum of discretion had been needed to deepen their relationship, to begin working through the tangled webs that yet prevented perfection and peace. They'd made a good start.

Kissing Elrohir had been a revelation, and odd as it was, he supposed he had Melpomaen to thank for it. Neither love nor desire had motivated him. It had been anger and frustration, an urge to lash out, to intimidate, to demonstrate bravado. He was not inclined to analyze his actions as Elrohir did, but he knew that those feelings and urges were the dubious gifts of his human heritage. Elladan needed to look no further than his father's occasional flashes of temper to know where he'd gotten it from, needed only to look to his brother to see it reflected and obliquely admired. Elrohir had liked being kissed that way.

Yes, Elrohir had liked it, and had asked him to do it again. That was the difference between Elrohir and Erestor, Elladan thought. It was he who'd had to ask Erestor, and though he'd try to ignore it, he had still recognized the advisor's uncertainty and reticence. Elrohir had said that Erestor was afraid, and perhaps that was true. Maybe he was afraid of that human side that flared hot and bright, afraid that he would be consumed by it. Afraid that he, too, would like it. He still did not doubt Erestor's love, but it seemed to him now that Erestor had some unknown, vested interest in keeping that love from shifting, changing, deepening. Elladan did not know the reason, but he did know that it had been his efforts to bring about shift and change that had brought what they had to this unspoken, lingering end.

If he wanted to he could blame Elrohir. After all, it was Elrohir who had suggested that he ask Erestor, Elrohir who had gently yet firmly steered him into that fiasco. There was something between those two, and Elladan knew it. They did not dislike each other, but neither were they friends. Elrohir had quit actively liking Erestor starting on the night when he'd seen the marks Erestor had put on Elladan's body. Since then his reasons had shifted as necessary, changing as his own views and desires made it impractical to continue pointing an accusatory finger at Erestor for behaviors that he himself had adopted. So, Elrohir had his unnamed and ever evolving grudge, had his own games that he played with the same fervor that Erestor played his. For a while it had been blatant; power had shifted, and Elrohir had seemed on top. Then it had all stopped on the day that Elladan had made love to Erestor, but Elladan was not so foolish as to believe that meant it had ended. It had only shifted yet again.

Even so, he did not blame Elrohir. What Elrohir had done had only unearthed something which could not have been hidden forever anyway. It had been a speeding of the inevitable, and Elladan could not find it in himself to hold that against his brother. Even knowing that Elrohir's actions had not entirely been motivated by love did not disturb him. He knew that his brother's pride had been injured, that a great deal of the manueverings which had taken place had more to do with the salvaging of that pride and with inflicting a retributive share of suffering. It made no difference. He himself had kissed Elrohir in passion borne of fury; how could he blame his brother for being less than altruistic in his actions?

If Elladan were to find any fault it would be in the way this had been allowed to drag out. Secrets had been kept; Elrohir and Erestor had tip toed around him as if he were made of glass, and he knew that in all of their silent struggling the one thing that they'd agreed on was that he should not be hurt by it. He had been, though, hurt by their protectiveness, by their refusal to treat him as an equal partner but instead as someone to be coddled and cradled, someone delicate, fragile. He wished they could have spoken their disagreements, leveled accusations, declared their mistrust openly even if doing so would have led to acrimony. Better a few clean arguments to clear the air than this ongoing state of unknowing, of feeling the tension, of sensing the edges of something he was never allowed to see.

Yet in a peculiar way Elladan took comfort even from that. They did love him, and he would never be persuaded to believe otherwise. Why else all the care taken, even if it had not been needed, even if it had been counter productive? There had been plenty of malice intended, most of it from Elrohir and aimed at Erestor. There had been mistakes and accidents aplenty. And through it all both of them had insisted upon protecting him, upon hiding it from him, on keeping him safe. They had hurt him, but they'd never meant to, and in this one case he could agree with Elrohir that sometimes intentions mattered more than results.

*****

The drawstring bag swung at his side as he made his way to Erestor's chambers for the last time. There were only a few things left to return, but Elrohir felt it would be preferable to do so in the same manner in which he'd taken them rather than returning them to the chief advisor in person. Erestor wouldn't say anything about it, not even about the theft and copying of the wardrobe key. He would look at him, though, that half amused, half contemptuous look that had more to do with recognition than accusation. --So, changed your mind about a few things, did you?-- That was what that look would say, and Elrohir would be speechless before it.

He had decided that he would tell Elladan everything, as much as he knew. That was what his conscience demanded. Elladan had promised himself to him, and Elrohir knew that if he did not speak he would forever feel that he'd gained his brother's love through trickery. If Elladan had the courage to give himself so completely then surely he could summon up the courage to bare himself in return, and then wait for his brother's judgment. He hoped that Elladan would be as forgiving of him as he was of Erestor.

Understanding Erestor was no longer as difficult as it once had been. Sometimes good ideas turn out to be bad ones; sometimes it's too late to go back once that realization hits. Elrohir had no idea what had impelled Erestor to pursue his fantasy, his infatuation until it became something more, but he had come to a humbling understanding of his own reasons. He had continued on, had played with a will, but it was not the desire to be there for his brother that had initially motivated him. It was not the desire to defend Elladan, nor the urge to avenge him or himself. No, the lure with which he'd been caught had been nothing more than the sight of his brother kneeling in the garden at Erestor's feet. Curiosity and lust was all that it had been, though he'd done his level best to persuade himself otherwise. At last he understood how something so facile and shallow could develop into something so much more substantial, full of complexity and depth.

It was not all about Elladan, and never had been. Certainly he had never wanted Elladan to be hurt, loved him too much to ever want such thing. That did not change the fact that Elladan had been his excuse, his shield, his weapon and his pawn. That Elladan did not know these things did not make it right.

In his own way he was not very different from Elladan, who used him to assuage his buried guilt. Elrohir had transferred his guilt to Erestor, and had then used Elladan to punish him. Perhaps it went to show that even in this Elladan was more straightforward and honest than he himself was. Elladan was at least able to live with his misgivings and hidden shame without finding someone else to blame.

Elladan had always been perfectly clear in his wants, needs, and desires, and Elrohir cursed himself for having been so unwilling to listen. Elladan's urges fed his own urges, urges that he'd vehemently told himself were nothing more than a result of Erestor's debauchery. Elladan's love was not a brother's love, no more than his for Elladan was. Better to deny and excuse than to believe and accept, because to do so would have meant believing and accepting his own thoughts and feelings. He had almost brought it all down in flames because of his refusal to believe.

The sad thing was that it was love which had made that possible, Erestor's love for Elladan which had not prevented him from toying with Elrohir, but which had stopped him from defending himself. His love for Elladan which had prevented him from spitting the facts as he saw them into Elladan's innocent face. Only love, Elrohir thought, could make it possible for people to hurt each other so badly, and now he could not understand how he had failed to see the truth behind it all. Both his love and Erestor's were true, and now there was no way he could be persuaded to believe otherwise.

He slipped the key into the lock, and let himself into Erestor's room without a sound. The moon was new, and darkness shrouded the chamber, but Elrohir's steps were swift and sure nevertheless. Once again he had forgotten to bring a candle, and he cursed under his breath as he opened the wardrobe, squinted at the barely seen hooks, shelves, and boxes.

The click of the bath chamber door alerted him to the presence of another, and Elrohir whirled, slamming the wardrobe door as candle light spilled into the room.

"Maybe this would help?" A familiar voice asked. The candle was raised, and Melpomaen grinned sarcastically. "No? Well, then, I'll see about casting more light than this on your endeavors."

Elrohir stared, mouth agape as the secretary crossed the room, lit the lamp on the small desk and then moved on to the beside table candles. "What are you doing here?"

"I daresay I have as much of a right to be here as you. More, I would think, since I did not come here to abscond with the esteemed chief advisor's belongings." He smiled sharply, sat down on the edge of the bed. "Though I would recommend the silk ropes and the strap if you've a mind to carry anything off. The chains would be harder to carry, and would doubtless arouse more curiosity if you should bump into anyone in the halls." He paused, appeared to consider. "I'd skip the gag, though. Elladan has such a pretty mouth. You too, for that matter."

Confusion and embarrassment warred with anger as Elrohir stood shaking by the wardrobe. "I ask you again, Melpomaen, what are you doing here, and what do you want?"

"I want the same thing you do, Elrohir. I want you and your brother out of Erestor's bed."


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins have a heart-to-heart with Melpomaen.

Elrohir stood frozen, aware that he was gaping at Melpomaen like a farmer at the Spring Festival but utterly unable to do anything about it. He abruptly became aware that he appeared to be brandishing a signal whip at the narrowly smiling secretary, and with a mumbled curse he tossed it carelessly into the wardrobe. With that, breathing again became possible, and a weak chuckle passed his lips.

"You… want… Erestor?" He managed, and the narrow smile became something sharper, razor edged.

"Erestor is mine as I am his, and this has been so since before he ever cast his gaze upon you. Let's just say that you've had him on loan."

Elrohir felt his knees grow weak, but there was no conveniently placed chair to sink into. He settled for tightening his grip on the wardrobe door. Anger was beginning to stir, but at the moment shocked confusion still stood at the forefront of his emotional storm. The tip of his tongue flicked at his upper lip, and he spoke with careful deliberation.

"I assume this arrangement wasn't what you wanted."

It was Melpomaen's turn to laugh - a brief, harsh sound that held no merriment. He made no other response, and Elrohir's thoughts turned almost frantically to Elladan. Elladan would come looking for him if he took too long, and this was something that Elladan should not, could not discover. All of his fine thoughts of telling his brother everything evaporated under the heat of Melpomaen's angry, hurt smile.

"Then he never did love Elladan; it was all a lie." His own anger was gaining ground, and now his expression had settled to stone. "You can't speak of this to Elladan."

The look of frustrated, angry amazement on Melpomaen's face was almost amusing. "You and Erestor are so alike. This is beyond belief, beyond all sense or comprehension!"

"I am not in the least like Erestor. If you mean to say something, say it. Quit speaking in riddles."

Melpomaen rolled his eyes. "I'm speaking of poor, dear Elladan whom you two seem to think must be treated like an injured dove. I am so damned tired of hearing from him about how much he loves Elladan, how he must be so careful of his precious, fragile heart."

The ability to stand unaided returned, and Elrohir strode across the room and stopped in front of the seated elf. Color bloomed in his cheeks. "Elladan does not deserve this." He nearly growled, and Melpomaen rose to his feet, glared at Elrohir eye to eye.

"And I do? Do I deserve to stand back and watch my lover make a fool of himself with a pair of elves not even a quarter of his age while he worries about the condition of your brother's heart?"

Elrohir looked away, swore. "Why, then? Why don't you cut your losses; he's not worth it."

For a moment he thought the smaller elf would hit him; his right hand curled into a fist, and Elrohir saw the movement of his arm, barely begun before aborted. Instead, Melpomaen smoothed the fabric of his sleeves, bared his teeth in something that could almost be classified as a grin.

"He is worth it, damn you. You never would see it, but he is. That hasn't made it any easier."

"No, I don't suppose it would." Elrohir replied. The realization that Melpomaen was hurting as badly as either he or Elladan began to dawn, and he struggled grimly against it. He had come to return a few borrowed items, nothing more. Complications had arisen, but those complications did not involve comforting Erestor's abandoned, ill treated lover. "I think I can understand how you feel, but I still do not want Elladan harmed by this. You love Erestor; surely you can understand that I love Elladan."

Melpomaen shook his head tiredly, gestured past him to the door. "It doesn't matter, Elrohir."

Again he felt that moment of freeze, but this time it did not last. He turned slowly, knowing what he would see, but hoping against hope that he would not. Elladan stood within the doorway wearing an expression that was more thoughtful than hurt or angry, and Elrohir felt a sudden tightening in his chest. Control was lost; it was far too late to manipulate this situation. Melpomaen stepped back and again sat on the bed, pulling his feet up under him like an elfling awaiting a bedtime story. Elladan moved forward toward them as silently as he had entered the room.

"How long have you been here, Elladan?"

"Long enough." There was a tinge of bitterness to his smile; it was a smile like Melpomaen's, and Elrohir's heart quailed at the sight. He said nothing as Elladan moved him gently aside and knelt before Melpomaen in order to look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Melpomaen." Elladan said softly, and Elrohir's eyes widened in amazement and nearly untinctured frustration.

"What do you mean, you're sorry!" He nearly wailed. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Erestor's the one who needs to be sorry! You didn't do anything, didn't know anything –

Elladan glared over his shoulder, rose to his feet. "Elrohir, would you, for once, just shut up."

Elrohir's jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Thought failed him as he was confronted with his brother's angry countenance. Elladan was angry. Not with Erestor, and not with Melpomaen. With him.

"You're right, Elrohir. I didn't know. I haven't known much of anything, have I? What was it that he said, that you two treat me like an injured dove?"

"Elladan, I swear I'd decided to tell you everything."

"It looks like Melpomaen has saved you the trouble." His voice was even and firm, and somehow that was worse than if he'd raised his voice. Elrohir glanced down at his feet. Elladan turned back to Melpomaen.

"I am sorry, and it's not all Erestor's fault. I knew they were keeping things from me, that there was more going on than met the eye. I decided it didn't matter, that I didn't want to know, so it's my fault, too."

"Elrohir didn't know about this, about me, until tonight." Melpomaen did not blanch before Elladan's flat stare, but neither did he bait him. "Erestor wouldn't have told you."

"No, I don't think he would have, either. But Elrohir knew other things, didn't you, Elrohir?"

"Not much." He responded weakly. "I knew that he wanted out, and that he was afraid of hurting you. He said he loved you, but that he couldn't do this anymore."

"So you knew enough that you could have brought this farce to an end much sooner than this."

"It wasn't supposed to have ended this way!" He cast Melpomaen an angry, harried glance. "You were never supposed to know, not until it was over, not until –

"Until it couldn't hurt me, right? Poor, fragile Elladan." Now his voice was beginning to shake as the outer edges of his control were reached. "This will come as a surprise to you, Elrohir, but I'm not stupid, nor am I fragile. Did it never occur to you to simply tell me what you knew if you love me so much? To let me make my own decision? And quit looking at him that way." Elladan snapped, nodding toward Melpomaen. "It's not his fault, either. Not everything can fit inside of your plans."

"He does love you." Melpomaen said quietly. "Erestor, I mean."

Elladan closed his eyes briefly, sighed. "He's certainly done a good job of persuading himself that he does, such a good job that he's persuaded the both of you as well as himself." He cast his brother one final, disgusted glance before settling on the bed next to Melpomaen. "He was infatuated with me, and it seems to me that the need to call that love rises proportionately to the extent of the disaster that infatuation causes. One would look extremely stupid, not to mention pathetic, to risk what one already has otherwise."

Melpomaen's eyes shifted to his lap. Elrohir stared incredulously as Elladan slung his arm around the smaller elf, sympathy shining in eyes that had once been flat and cold in their perusal of this same person.

"I truly am sorry, Melpomaen, and I am not angry with you anymore. I would have done the same over Elrohir if it came to that. I understand. It's over now."

"Is it?" He asked, shrugging aside Elladan's comforting arm. Elladan said nothing, folded his hands in his lap. "Could you finish with what you came here for and go?"

"Of course." Elladan rose to his feet, stared pointedly at his brother. Elrohir swallowed his objections and turned stiffly back to the wardrobe. When he'd finished, the two of them headed for the door. Elladan nodded his farewell, but Melpomaen did not look up.

"What's left is between you and him. We won't interfere."

"I know. Good night, Elladan."

The door shut behind them. Elladan's expression was frosty as he regarded his brother. "You could not even find it in you to apologize."

"Elladan…"

But Elladan was gone, walking swiftly, stiffly away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's got a certain, soap operatic quality going for it, or at least, that's what I think.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor is returning; the twins talk and settle some of their issues with each other.

One of the great truths of rulership is that one cannot ignore duties and appearances simply because one is entrenched in personal strife. Elladan and Elrohir had come to understand this with ever increasing clarity during their parent's absence. Rulership had not in fact been entrusted to them, but as Lord Elrond's sons they had been required to handle the mundanities of their father's duties, and to continue to present Imladris as a safe, respectable haven. Initially they had felt overwhelmed by this responsibility; within a matter of days they'd become bored with it. Over the last day and a half it had become an almost maddening burden, a frustrating side track that they could not depart from. It felt surreal to be organizing a welcoming party while so many more pressing personal matters danced in their minds, felt wrong to be thinking of those matters when they should be thinking about their parent's return.

Aside from their confrontation with Melpomaen and their own issues, the house had been in a frenzy of activity since the advance runners had informed them of Elrond and Celebrian's imminent arrival. It had not been strictly necessary for them to take an active part in the preparations; they could have simply given orders to the house steward and then stood back to reap the accolades for their servant's work. Elladan and Elrohir, however, had wanted to do more than give an order and allow the clockwork household to produce a perfect reception. They had wanted to show their genuine pleasure at their parent's return, and also to demonstrate to them that they could and had handled Imladris competently – even to the planning of a welcoming reception for its Lord and Lady. There was pride and relief wrapped up in this effort, the desire to please and a sincere hope to never have to do this again – at least not any time soon. And, of course, there was also guilt.

Their work had paid off. By the time Lord Elrond's entourage rode into the yard the frantic pace had settled into a more usual, natural rhythm per their orders. It had been Elladan who had suggested that none of them would feel like dancing and singing after a long trip, and that after the splendor of `Lorien they'd probably rest easier in a more homely atmosphere. With this in mind the house's usual time table was ignored, allowing the travelers a small vacation from their vacation. Lunch had been a simple affair; the dishes served were of the sort that could wait in the kitchen for the Lord and Lady to bathe and rest at their leisure.

Dinner was where their understated planning had really showed. Instead of having it served in the great dining hall, they had chosen the small family dining area with its round table and circular sky light. There Elrond and Celebrian were served upon dishes that were not Celebrian's best, but her favorites. Instead of the long, silver tapers always in evidence in the main hall, Elrohir had unearthed a set of short, white pillar candles in clay holders to light the table, and one of the maids had arranged a centerpiece of wild flowers to take the place of the more usual array of white roses.

Not surprisingly, Elrond and Celebrian had retired early, but they'd been well pleased with their son's work. Elladan and Elrohir had seen the pride and happiness reflected in their parents' eyes, and in spite of the turmoil of the past forty-eight hours they felt it had been well worth the effort. Elrohir could appreciate the irony of it, that the most important thing he had accomplished in an official capacity during his parents' absence had been the organization of their welcoming reception, but that irony did not detract in the least from the pride he felt in it.

With the day behind him, Elrohir lay back on his bed, contemplated the ceiling and the following day. Though Elrond and Celebrian didn't know it, only half of his work was done and he had not had an opportunity to speak to his brother since the previous night. Elladan had been in no mood to talk, though he'd said that morning that they'd talk after their parents had gone to bed. That had been an hour ago, but Elrohir had not snuffed the candles or undressed for bed. Elladan's word was always good, and there were matters that needed to be discussed, needed to be settled before another day dawned.

He understood why Elladan had walked away from him, and why Elladan hadn't spoken to him since, at least not in any intimate or personal way. He knew his brother better than anyone else, as his brother knew him. Elladan was angry; no, Elladan was furious, and as had always been the case he was frightened of his own volatile emotions. That he would get over it went without saying. Like their father, Elladan's temper could flare hot and bright, but also like Elrond he was not the sort to keep that fire stoked. It would pass and time would pass, so much time that everyone around him would almost forget what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his rage.

This time was different; it had to be different because they were no longer just brothers, no longer just friends. Right or wrong, for better or for worse, they had chosen a path upon which hiding was no longer possible. Elrohir had never before thought it could be possible that anything could come between them, that anything could turn them against or away from each other. That had changed the first time their lips had met in a lover's kiss, and it did not matter that Erestor had asked them to do it. The time for mind games and denial had passed; they could have refused, they could have turned away, they could have said no. They hadn't done any of those things, and so they were left with this bond of lovers that could only sustain them if they could also hold onto the unconditional honesty of twin born brothers.

The door swung inward; Elladan stepped inside wordlessly, seated himself on the trunk at the foot of Elrohir's bed. For a long moment neither of them spoke. Elrohir pushed himself up on his elbows, settled back against the pillows. Elladan crossed an ankle over his knee, studied the smooth wood floor in the vicinity of the toe of his boot. At last he spoke.

"Look, Elrohir, I'm sorry."

"No. Don't say that." He sat upright, scooted down to the foot of the bed. "I know it's easier, but it's not right. Dammit, Elladan, you've done the least to be sorry for, and you're the only one who's apologized."

"Then what do you want me to say?" He looked up, shoved a tendril of loose hair out of his face with controlled vehemence.

"Nothing. Just… just listen for a little bit, Elladan."

"Alright."

The word was a chip of ice falling from his brother's lips, and Elrohir took a deep breath before beginning to speak. He started at the beginning, from the moment when he had seen Elladan on his knees in the garden, and though there were times when his words slowed and other times when his voice grew so soft as to be almost inaudible, he did not stop until he'd reached the end. Through most of that long discourse he kept his eyes on his lap, fiddled nervously with his sleeve cuffs. Elladan did not interrupt him, not even once, and though it had seemed a lengthy and difficult thing to explain in his mind he was rather appalled to find that it had only taken a little less than half an hour to lay it out in words.

"I am sorry, Elladan. I… I wanted to protect you, and I didn't like myself very much… Not what I was doing, or thinking, or wanting, or liking…" He trailed off, eyes darting up to almost, but not quite, meet Elladan's. " I love you, and that's always been the truth. So I used that as my excuse to cover everything else I was doing, good and bad." He took a deep, steadying breath. "The way you use the cuffs and games to make what you want to do alright."

He expected a gust of rage, but instead Elladan reached for him, picked his hand out of his lap and cradled it between his own.

"Elrohir, what do you think of me? Really?"

"What do you mean?" There was genuine bafflement in his tone, and his eyes were wide and startled. Elladan smiled ruefully.

"You wanted excuses to do what you wanted. I've never had any. Do you think me low and vile, do you level the same accusations at me that you level at yourself?"

"No! No, Elladan, never, it's different…"

"Oh yes, because I'm a little bit simple, right?"

Elrohir sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Elladan. I swear I will never keep anything from you again, never treat you as anything less than an equal."

"I know." Elladan rubbed the back of Elrohir's hand, squeezed it gently. "But this… who we are… this is no one's doing but our own, and if we are equals than we are either both vile or we are both good and true. I don't think we're either, Elrohir, not heroes or villains, but I do know that I can't remain on this pedestal you've made for me as if I were a marble statue."

Elrohir swallowed hard, forced himself to look his brother in the eye. "Alright, then. Enough is enough. I love you, and I won't waste our time, sully our time, by blaming Erestor as if my feelings are a crime. And I don't want to chain you to our bed so that you can feel as if it's not your choice, either."

The hands holding his stilled, but did not release him. "Don't tell me you don't enjoy it."

Elrohir smiled, pushed Elladan's hair back from his face. "No, I won't tell you that. But sometimes… sometimes reasons do matter. You may not make excuses, but you aren't as accepting of this as you'd have me believe."

"No, I suppose not." It was Elladan's turn to glance down at his lap. "What does it matter, as long as it is between us, though?"

"It matters because you're blaming yourself, just as I have been blaming Erestor. It matters because people don't cast blame unless something is wrong. Isn't that what you were saying to me? That I blame Erestor because I think what we're doing is wrong? Do you think it's wrong, too?"

"I don't want to think it's wrong." Elladan said. His voice was small, strengthless. Elrohir turned his hand within his brother's, linked their fingers. "I don't want to stop."

"Neither do I. I think that maybe we both need to change the way we look at things." He glanced down at their joined hands, licked his lips. "This isn't going to be easy."

"No." Elladan replied. When he looked up his eyes were bright "But we've made a good start, don't you think?"

"Yes." Elrohir smiled. "Come here. Let's make it even better."

*****

Elrohir watched his brother dress through half closed eyes. Their love making had been more tentative and awkward than usual, but no less satisfying for all of that. There had been no trappings of dominance and submission, no games, no implicit feeling of coercion, and Elrohir realized that in a way this was the first time that this had been so. Even their first time together had been orchestrated by Erestor, though Erestor had not been there. Since then their unions had been either guilty pleasure carried to fulfillment under Erestor's darkly redemptive shadow, or graphically sexual dramatics played out in order to exorcise demons they refused to outwardly acknowledge.

"Are you going to talk to him tomorrow, then?"

Elladan shook his head. "No, I'm going to see him tonight. He's probably wondering why he hasn't seen us yet." He pulled on his tunic without bothering with his under shirt, adjusted the sleeves and neck laces without looking in the mirror.

"Will you come back? Afterwards?"

Elladan shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I'd like to, but…"

"But we have to be careful." Elrohir sighed, plucked at the embroidered pattern on the coverlet. "If you'd never changed rooms this wouldn't be an issue."

"If I'd never changed rooms, this wouldn't be an issue in more ways than one." He grinned, pushed his hair back behind his ears. "Get dressed and wait for me in my room. It's inconveniently located in the outback of no where, and about the best we can do for now."

Elrohir stretched. "Mmmm, tired."

"Get up, lazy thing."

He sighed dramatically and pushed himself up. "Well, since you put it that way." His eyes swept over Elladan's dressed form, and his smile faded. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"

"No, Elrohir. This is between Erestor and I. Remember what you promised."

"Alright." He frowned as he pushed himself up out of the bed. "What do you need me for, Elladan?"

"To be there for me when it's over, Elf Knight." Elladan embraced   
him, kissed the high plain of his cheek. "I love you, Elrohir."

"As I love you." He stepped back, smiled wanly. "I will always be there for you, Elladan."

"I know." Elladan whispered. He turned toward the door, hesitated for a moment at the threshold. "I'll be back as quickly as I can."


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen thinks, Elladan and Erestor talk, the triangle breaks up, and everyone lives more or less happily ever after.

They had been in his rooms. He knew it intuitively, had known it the moment he had unlocked the door and stepped inside. It didn't bother him that the twins had been there, though he was curious about it. They had not made love in his bed; that much was evident by the unchanged, clean sheets, and he would have been surprised if they had. Erestor had known when he'd left that he would never lie with them again, and he could think of no reason why they would wish to take pleasure in each other here. Not that he would have minded if they had.

Melpomaen had been here, also, and recently. His lover's scent was one he would never mistake for another's, one that was as easily and immediately recognizable as the scent of spring rain. The coverlet on his bed was slightly rumpled, and he could imagine Melpomaen lying there, hands behind his head under the pillow. He had seen Melpomaen in that pose countless times over the years, in various stages of dress, in different moods, hair up, and hair down. Oddly enough the way Erestor liked him best was fully dressed in his severe office robes, lying back against the pillows waiting for him. No matter how difficult his day might have been Erestor could never restrain a smile at the sight of his lover stretched out atop his bed, hands folded over his belly or behind his head, looking more than ever like an elfling dressed up in a costume copy of office dress.

Melpomaen had not set foot within this chamber since the day Erestor had gone riding with Elladan for a picnic by the river. Since then the library was the closest they'd come to an intimate setting. Why had he chosen to come here in his absence, chosen to leave obvious indications of his presence? If Melpomaen hadn't wanted him to know he'd been there, he wouldn't have known. Whether the rumpled coverlet and faint scent of cinnamon were meant to tell him something or if they were only an indicator of apathy, Erestor did not know.

He sat on the edge of the bed, stretched out in the space that had been occupied by Melpomaen's body. Perhaps Melpomaen had missed him, had taken that small opportunity to be close. Erestor wondered if he had imagined that he was waiting, as he had so often waited while Erestor was finishing one piece of business or another. Had it felt to him as if he was visiting the past, or a possible future? Erestor sighed, folded his hands behind his head. To him the room felt haunted, felt as if a piece of every person who had passed through it still lingered. He might turn his head and see Melpomaen grinning mischievously at him, glance up and see Elladan posed on the rug, look over and see Elrohir frowning by the door. What had Melpomaen seen?

His thoughts were broken by a soft knock. For a brief moment his dark eyes narrowed in something like pain. He knew Elladan's knock, though it was not usual for Elladan to knock before entering, not if the door was unlocked. Erestor had left it unlocked, had done so in mingled dread and hope. He didn't know whom he'd left it unlocked for or what he'd been expecting, but the sound of Elladan's knuckles rapping at solid oak told him everything he needed to know.

"Enter." He called. He did not rise, made no effort to pull the coverlet over himself though he was dressed only in red silk bed trousers. It seemed both foolish and hypocritical to concern himself with such niceties at this late date, and after all, Elladan had seen him in less. Never had he seen him so relaxed and in such a vulnerable posture, never save for that one time which Erestor refused to think about. Even so, he refused to concern himself with that, either. It was fitting, after all.

Elladan stepped through the door, closed it silently behind him. For a moment he paused at the threshold, and a small smile ghosted about his lips.

"You need a glass of wine, Erestor."

"Pardon?" The comment threw him completely off track, left him fumbling in a manner that made him feel far more vulnerable than his position and state of dress. Elladan chuckled softly.

"Then you could sit propped up against the pillows with a glass of wine in your hand. You'd look perfect." He crossed the room, seated himself at the foot of the bed. "Your hair's down." He said, apropos of nothing. A small frown etched lines in his forehead, contradicting his small smile. Erestor shrugged.

"I do take it down from time to time." He said shortly, pushing himself upright. Elladan colored, looked away.

"I've never seen it like that before. It's lovely, Erestor."

"Elladan… Just tell me what you're here for. Please." There was no anger or frustration in his tone, only fatalism and something that sounded more than a little like simple relief. Elladan nodded, shifted his gaze back to Erestor's.

"We talked to Melpomaen."

"You talked to Melpomaen." The words came out flat. Everything seemed to freeze; Erestor's thoughts took panicked, aimless flight. If he'd been holding a wine glass, it would have fallen from his hand.

"Yes. Do you have any idea of what you've done, Erestor?" Elladan's question was gentle, but Erestor could only stare, could only silently pray that his features were giving away nothing, that his eyes were a reflective surface. Elladan sighed, rested a tender hand on his ankle.

"He loves you, the way that I love Elrohir. Why would you risk that for something that was only ever a trifle to you?"

"It was not!" The ice broke; thought emerged though not completely coherently. "There are things I have failed to tell you, Elladan, but I swear I never lied to you when I've said that I love you."

"You love me." Again Elladan laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You love me, but you told Melpomaen to wait for you."

"I didn't mean to love you."

"Mmm." Elladan frowned. "Well then, I will say what you are yet afraid to say. You were my first lover, and I fell in love with you as every young elf falls in love with his first. Infatuation, Erestor. If it was truly you whom I love, then I would not have been distracted so easily. If there hadn't been all else – Elrohir, Melpomaen – perhaps it would have become more."

"Do you hate me, then?" Erestor asked blithely, curving his lips into a smile that was meant to be ironic. Elladan squeezed his ankle, shook his head.

"No. You brought me Elrohir. And I don't think you ever meant any harm, not really. I don't believe that I was just a toy to you, though originally I think that was all you intended."

"I don't know what I intended anymore." He looked away, lips tightened. "I thought that Melpomaen did not object, and then I knew that he did. I thought that you were beautiful and would be careless in your affections, and I was only half right about that. I thought you and Elrohir would be beautiful together, and I was right. By then I knew I wanted Melpomaen, but by then I'd also grown to care for you too much to be thoughtless of your heart."

"I appreciate your caring, Erestor, but I am not made of glass." He sighed, released his grip. "Elrohir and I have had it out concerning this. Don't you think everyone would have been spared much if you'd simply cried off?"

"I don't know." Erestor muttered, then sighed, shoulders slumped. "Yes, I do."

"That I would tax you with were I to tax you with anything. That you confused who we were within this room with who we are every place else."

"But we are not so different here as elsewhere, Elladan." Elladan frowned, and Erestor grinned wryly, shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, not outwardly. But here you wanted to be free from all the rest, free to be soft, free to have what you wanted. I gave you that freedom, Elladan, but I couldn't have done it if you hadn't wanted it, if who you are outside this chamber is really so very different."

"Elrohir says it's guilt." Elladan said brusquely. He clasped his hands in his lap, the pose oddly reminiscent of the many times he'd folded his hands so in a more formal manner, though covered in fewer layers of clothing.

"He's probably right to some extent." Erestor shrugged. "It wasn't always guilt, though, wasn't always a matter of asking for what you thought you deserved. Was it?"

"No." He forced himself to meet Erestor's eyes. "I wasn't using you that way, not at first. I don't want to use Elrohir that way, either."

"Give it time. These things have a way of sorting themselves out one way or another. As we know."

"I daresay the sorting will go much more easily now that I am not operating in the dark." He blushed at the unintentional double entendre, and Erestor chuckled, though not mockingly.

"I'm sorry, Elladan. My only defense is that I never wanted to hurt you. I gave you too little credit, and in spite of my qualifications on your words, I suppose I did forget that fragile you is not all of you. Not even the greater part of you."

"No, it isn't." His eyes moved to the coverlet, then back to Erestor's face. "I was worried about you, you know." There was a hint of accusation in his eyes. "When I knew that Elrohir is whom I love. I didn't want to hurt you, either, and you made me believe that leaving you would hurt you."

"It does hurt." Erestor's voice was thick with emotion. Elladan blinked, startled, took in the bright luminescence of withheld tears in midnight eyes. For a long moment neither said anything; Erestor stared past Elladan stolidly while the younger elf studied his hands. At last Elladan spoke.

"I thought I'd done something wrong. When I made love to you." He grimaced, shook his head. "I don't mean that I did something wrong… maybe that I was wrong in asking…" His words trailed off, and he ran his fingers through his hair in Elrohir's gesture of impatience and frustration.

"When all of this started Melpomaen told me that he'd be waiting for me when you finished breaking my heart."

"What has that to do with anything?" Elladan asked defensively. He wasn't sure if he was being baited, but that was the way it felt. Erestor sat upright, scooted closer to him, and Elladan forced himself not to shy away.

"I fully understood what he meant when you made love to me, Elladan. And I couldn't do that to myself anymore. I didn't want to hurt you, but…"

"You were hurting, too." Elladan took a ragged breath. "I knew you were hurting, just not why. I thought maybe it had to do with Elrohir." The words, _it was Elrohir's idea_ almost passed his lips, but they sounded too much like a prevarication. It didn't matter, though; it seemed that Erestor had read his thoughts.

"I know Elrohir put you up to it, but it was what you wanted, too. And as you said of yourself earlier, under different circumstances it would have been what I wanted." He laid a gentle hand on Elladan's shoulder. "May I, Elladan? One last kiss?"

For a moment he thought the younger elf would refuse, but then Elladan was in his arms, light and pliant as ever he had been. Their lips met chastely, but the depth of their kiss was no less heated, no less meaningful. Elladan tangled his fingers in Erestor's loose tresses, his thumb strayed to the apple of Erestor's cheek. It seemed that he was trying to memorize everything about his first love, that he would take the shelter of this last embrace with him inasmuch as he could, burn it into his memory.

At last they parted. Elladan rose to his feet, straightened his tunic with a shaking hand.

"Go to Melpomaen, Erestor. He's been waiting for you."

*****

He knew this room as well as he knew his own. It was much smaller, not so small as that of a quartered servant, but close. There was no adjoining bath or sitting room, no excess of furnishings or other decor. Even so, this room was warmer and more fancifully appointed than his own. Melpomaen managed his own finances with all the flair with which he handled the business of three political counselors, and Erestor had often told him that he ought to seek a place among Imladris's economic advisors. Certainly his small room alone demonstrated his qualifications – Melpomaen had achieved both taste and an air of wealth within his secretary's budget and the limited space he had to work with.

Melpomaen had never asked him for anything. Erestor thought of that as he considered the few but lovely pieces of furniture his lover had chosen, the handful of decorations that in some instances were more costly than those in his own chambers. He could have bought Melpomaen anything he wanted, could have filled this chamber with objects of art and curiosity, could, for that matter, have moved Melpomaen into his own rooms. Even so, Melpomaen had never asked him for more than his presence, would have been uncomfortable with gifts, would have been insulted beyond any hope of reconciliation if Erestor had offered him money.

He understood Melpomaen, orphan of Mirkwood, to an extent, understood Melpomaen's insistence upon maintaining his own place and position. He understood the small, watchful smile that Melpomaen wore when he'd suggested to him that he should consider working toward an advancement in status. It was one of the things he loved about him, that he was yet mysterious, that he kept his own council, that he was proud, and that he still kept nothing from him that was needful, nothing that mattered between the two of them. There was strength in that small form, more than most gave him credit for. It was that strength Erestor feared as he knocked lightly at the chamber door he had not seen the inside of in a little over a year.

Footsteps. There had been no light under the door, and Erestor had not been expecting any. He had not intended to take Elladan's words quite so literally, had planned upon waiting for the morrow to speak to Melpomaen. It was late; he was exhausted; he had no reason to believe that Melpomaen would not be sleeping the sleep of the just. His intentions had meant nothing in the face of his bone deep loneliness, however, in the face of the sleeplessness he knew awaited him in his own wide, empty bed. He had to finish this just as Elladan had had to, even though the twins had surely considered that he himself would be tired after his travels.

The door opened. Melpomaen stood there, blinking against the light of Erestor's candle. He stared wordlessly, eyes wide as an elfling's, looking like an elfling with his tousled hair and long night shirt.

"Melpomaen, I…"

"Hush." Melpomaen pressed a finger to Erestor's lips, took his hand. "It's late, Erestor; come to bed."

"I wanted to tell you…"

"No. Not now." He guided Erestor toward the bed, took the candle from him and set it on the bedside table. "Are you here to stay?"

"Yes."

"Good." He blew out the candle. Again Erestor tried to speak, and again Melpomaen shushed him. Soft, agile hands divested him of his robe, leaving him once again in his silken bed pants. "I'm tired, Erestor."

"Alright." He paused, almost resisted as Melpomaen pulled him down onto the bed with gentle persistence. "Is there nothing that you want…"

"Not now." He pulled the light coverlet over their forms, settled against the sheet beside Erestor. "Hold me?"

"Forever, melethron nin." Erestor whispered in response as he pulled Melpomaen into his arms. It was hard to tell who was holding whom, who was comforting and who was comforted. Erestor decided that it didn't matter; all that mattered was that they were holding each other. For the first time in over a month, Erestor slipped into sleep swiftly and easily, and when morning dawned the two were still entwined in their survivor's embrace.


End file.
